


Like Sailing and Home Runs

by out_there



Category: Sports Night
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-14
Updated: 2005-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's see."  Dan ran a hand through his hair.  "One guy freaks about his father dying, seduces his -- let's not forget, straight -- best friend, and then freaks out during sex.  It's not exactly the plot to The Best Romance Novel of All Time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Sailing and Home Runs

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so tempted to subtitle this fic: "What happens in Connecticut, stays in Connecticut." Big thanks to [](http://phoebesmum.livejournal.com/profile)[**phoebesmum**](http://phoebesmum.livejournal.com/) for betaing and [](http://shetiger.livejournal.com/profile)[**shetiger**](http://shetiger.livejournal.com/) for the American-check. Thanks to [](http://scrunchy.livejournal.com/profile)[**scrunchy**](http://scrunchy.livejournal.com/) for not laughing at my questions and [](http://celli.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://celli.livejournal.com/)**celli** for patiently holding my hand.

"So." The word rolled off Abby's tongue, deceptively simple.

"So."

"It's nice to see you sitting down again," Abby said warmly.

Dan shrugged. "I like to walk when I talk. I like to stand."

"You're not standing now."

"No. Would it," Dan paused, feeling vaguely confused, "would it be okay if I just sat here quietly for a while?"

"Sure." Abby picked up a pen, a thin, blue ballpoint, the cheap kind that came twenty to a box and could always be found haunting the office stationery cupboard. Pulling a piece of paper towards her, she added, "You sit there quietly, I'll sit here quietly, and when you want to talk, we'll talk."

"Thanks." Dan watched Abby focus on her paperwork. Relaxing back against her couch, he shifted against the comfortable leather and let his eyes wander. The room was painted a warm orange that made Dan think of sunflowers and bowls of pumpkin soup. There was something about it that made him think of warm summer days, of school vacation and having nothing to do.

Abby's room had always been surprisingly warm, unexpectedly comfortable. He'd expected her office to be white, to be plain; to be professional and impersonal. When he'd told Abby, she'd laughed and said that since she spent most of her day in here, the walls should be a color she liked.

It was a good color for Abby. It suited her, warm and friendly. He tugged at the sleeves of his sweatshirt, pulling little bobbles off the slate grey material.

Abby's room was a lot like Abby herself: cluttered, mismatched and practical. Genuine in a way that Dan didn't want to examine too closely. It was a room full of personality. The shelves behind her desk had trinkets and random ornaments -- a shell, a cheap china shoe, a Bugs Bunny pez dispenser -- and photos taken with bad lighting from unflattering angles. Thick psychology textbooks stood in a neat line along the lower shelves, but the very bottom shelf, the one that was mostly hidden by Abby's desk, held thin, cream-colored paperbacks with titles like "The Innocent Mistress" and "The Least Likely Groom." It was like stepping into Sue's room, before she went to college and developed a healthy scorn for 'pulp fiction entrenched in patriarchy'.

Abby she was still concentrating on whatever she was writing. "What are you doing?"

She looked up and smiled. "Writing a shopping list."

Dan felt his brows rise in disbelief. "Really?"

"I'm hosting a dinner party. Still trying to work out what to prepare."

"Oh," Dan said, somewhat stuck on what to say next. "I've never held a dinner party."

Abby shrugged. "It's a lot of work to organize."

"Guess it would be," Dan replied. Abby kept watching him closely, and Dan fidgeted, pulling at his jacket collar.

Abby looked back down to her list. "Did you want to keep sitting there in silence?"

"Can I? Isn't it..." Dan waited for a sign that she was joking. "Aren't I supposed to talk?"

"It's an hour long session," Abby said, idly tapping her pen against her desktop. "You can sit there quietly for a while."

Dan swallowed. "Good."

Dan managed to sit quietly for another ten minutes, staring at Abby's desk and mentally revising travel plans, which led his thoughts elsewhere. To things he didn't want to think about.

The easiest way to avoid them was to talk. "I can't be quiet at work."

Abby let her pen drop lightly to the desk. "What do you mean?"

He leaned back on the couch, shrugging. "I'll sit in our office, and every five minutes Casey wants to discuss some random thing about the script. Or Natalie wants to share some gossip." Dan rolled his eyes, warming to his subject. "Or Jeremy wants to spread his enthusiasm for sports that nobody else cares about. Or Dana comes in, looking for her shoes and her lost marbles."

"Sounds like a regular zoo," Abby said encouragingly and Dan grinned.

"It is. I mean, normally, I don't care. I like these people and I like talking to them. It's just... they make it impossible to be quiet."

"You feel you have to talk to them?"

Dan shifted on the couch, squirming forward. "No, I don't have to. I like talking to them."

"But you want to be quiet," Abby said gently.

"It's not..." Dan shrugged. "I don't know. It's not that I want to be quiet, it's just that I can't."

"Dan?" Abby's voice was questioning, and sometimes he forgot how observant she was. She knew how to see through him: that was why he'd started seeing her.

"Did you ever want to date me?" Dan blurted out in a rush, a sudden change of topic that sent the conversation tearing off in a different direction. "When we first met, when you gave me your card, did you want to date me?"

Abby eyed him warily. "That has no bearing on this."

"I know, but did you want to date me? I want to know if you..." Dan paused, not quite sure if he wanted to hear the answer. "If you liked me, or if something just screamed 'therapy needed - apply here'."

Abby leaned back in her chair, still watching him. "Why do you want to know?"

"It's pretty obvious. I want to know how easy it is to see that I'm..." Dan waved a hand vaguely, not wanting to label this. Abby would understand.

"However I answer this has no effect on our session, Dan," Abby said as she sat down beside him on the couch. "It's a doctor-patient relationship. I'm not going to date you."

"No. I... I don't want to date you." Abby raised an eyebrow questioningly, and he had to grin. "You're very hot and you've got a great sense of humor, but it'd be too weird." Quietly, he added, "I need you too much like this."

"I'll answer, but it won't change how I act towards you." Dan nodded and waited for her to continue. Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she paused. "You were cute and charming and, yes, I wanted to date you. However, you were also in pain and needed therapy."

Dan scowled. That didn't answer anything. "So, you gave me your card to make an appointment?"

"No. I gave you my card because I liked you."

Dan watched her carefully, but the soft smile hadn't changed. "You would have dated me?"

"If you were getting therapy from someone else."

"Why?"

"Because you *were* in pain," Abby said calmly, rationally, as if they were discussing real estate or designer labels. "I've had those relationships before and I've learned from my mistakes."

Intrigued, Dan asked, "What mistakes?"

"The mistake of dating the cute guy who needs therapy." Abby frowned for a second. "The mistake of trying to date him and trying to help him at the same time. I can't do both."

"Why not?"

"Do you like me, Dan?" He grinned, and she held up a hand. "No sexual connotations, just as a person."

"Yes."

"Do you like therapy?"

Dan paused. Finally, he said, "It's good for me."

Abby nodded, a small quick movement that made her brown hair jump against her shoulders. "But you don't always enjoy it."

"It's not all sweetness and roses," Dan agreed with a dry grin.

"But you like me, even if you don't like our sessions?"

"Because I know that you're not the therapy." Dan lowered his brows in concentration. "Wait, that didn't come out right. The therapy is good for me, even if it makes me... uncomfortable. And I know that you do this to help. It's not... You're not doing this for kicks."

Abby smiled. "Exactly. But you don't have that separation when you date someone. You're too close to see they're trying to help you, not hurt you."

He raised his hands, and made the crash and burn sound. Abby looked at him in confusion.

"The relationship crashes and burns," Dan explained and Abby nodded. "Still, it's nice to know that if I'd chosen another therapist, I could have dated you."

"Would you have felt comfortable?" Abby asked casually.

"No," Dan replied quickly with a shake of his head, and then laughed. "I like it better this way."

"Me, too," Abby replied with a smile as she stood up and walked across the room.

"You've been very... personally forthcoming today," Dan said as Abby sat back down behind her desk.

"Consider it a free throw. Everyone deserves one now and then."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Besides, there's obviously something on your mind, and I trust you to tell me about it next session."

Dan grimaced. "About our next session..."

"What about it?" Abby asked, looking over at him.

"I can't make it. I need to cancel."

Abby sat up in her chair. "Oh no, Dan. We have a deal. Tuesdays, I see you."

"What about the twenty-four hour notice policy?" Dan asked, standing up casually.

"That is a broad, impersonal policy. Our deal is personal. You need a good reason to cancel." Abby crossed her wrists and rested them on the desk. Her nails were short and square, painted a dusty pink.

"I have a good reason," Dan replied.

"What is it?" Abby asked skeptically.

"I won't be in New York," Dan said, pulling at a loose thread in his shirt.

"You won't be doing the show?"

"I'll be doing the show. But," Dan paused for a quick breath, "I'll be traveling back from Connecticut on Tuesday."

Her forehead furrowed. "What sport's being played in Connecticut?"

"None. It's not a work visit," Dan said, his gaze sliding across Abby's desk, away from those long, prying fingers.

"No?"

"It's personal."

Abby gave him a long, considering look. "Visiting your parents?"

"Yeah," Dan breathed out in a sigh. "I'm going down after Monday's show."

"And coming back Tuesday?" Abby prompted.

"Best not to overstay my welcome," Dan said glibly.

"Dan?"

He grimaced. "I know, it's just... Dad and I don't get along well at the best of times. And I haven't spoken to Mom in... months, I think. But, you already know that, right?"

Abby nodded, and for a second he feared that she'd pursue it, force him to talk about why he was going. "I also know that this session is almost over. Make an appointment for Monday on your way out."

He grimaced again. "Monday?"

"Monday."

Her eyes were firm, and Dan was suddenly reminded of his fourth grade teacher. She'd been hot, too. "Monday it is. Can we make it early?"

Abby thought for a moment. "Mondays are pretty light, so you should be able to. When were you thinking?"

He shrugged, calculating commuting times and traffic conditions. "Around nine?"

"In the morning?" Abby asked, surprised.

Dan grinned. "You can't tell me that's too early for a Monday. I'm sure you've started by then."

Abby smiled. "It's not early for me, but it sounds early for you."

"No offense, Abby, but I'd like to get it out of the way."

"None taken. I'll see you Monday morning," Abby said warmly as she opened the door for him.

"Thanks," Dan said and his smile felt tight.

  


* * *

  
Dan yawned and huddled over his Starbucks coffee.

"Is it too early for you?" Abby asked fondly.

"Won't be once I finish my coffee," Dan replied, blowing on the hot liquid.

Abby rummaged through her desk drawer for a pen. "You could have made it later, you know."

"And let you sleep in?" he asked with a sleepy smirk. "I don't think so."

Abby chuckled. "Have it your way."

Dan laughed and waggled his eyebrows. "I frequently do."

"So," Abby started, still sounding amused, "what did you get up to on the weekend?" She was probably aware that he'd had Saturday off.

"Not much," Dan lied easily. "A little packing. A little sleep. Watched the game."

"Really?"

Dan nodded, leaning further over his cup. "Yeah. Another exciting weekend in the life of Dan Rydell."

"You didn't see Casey?"

"Why do you ask?"

Abby shrugged. "You normally do."

"Casey's been busy with Charlie's Little League aspirations." He stopped for a moment, trying to remember if he'd told Abby this story before. "Did I tell you?"

She shook her head, motioning for him to continue.

"Charlie's Little League team made it to the semi-finals. I mean, Charlie isn't great at baseball. He's not even good," Dan said with a slightly guilty grimace. "In fact, to be perfectly honest, he's pretty bad. But some of the other kids in his team are very good."

"Yeah?" Abby asked, tilting her head to the side.

Dan nodded. "Yeah. And Casey's being good about it. I mean, he's so damn proud of Charlie, but he wasn't all... He didn't get all worked up about the chance of victory, or that Charlie wasn't the best player, but he was proud."

  


* * *

  
Casey turned to him with a wide grin of paternal pride. "Semi-finals, Dan."

Dan laughed, keeping an eye on the red counter, ticking off seconds back to air. "You told me already."

Casey had been smiling all day. It was his natural response to Charlie doing well in anything, to brag around the office and grin as if someone had just discovered the cure for cancer, war, famine and really stupid referees. "It's the semi-finals. It's a pretty big thing."

"I'm not saying it isn't."

"You just don't seem as enthusiastic about this as you could be," Casey teased him lightly.

Dan shot Casey a quick offended glare. "I'm excited."

"You're excited?" Casey repeated, watching him carefully.

"I'm excited. I'm very excited. In fact," Dan said, watching the counter and mentally noting that they only had thirty seconds left. "I haven't been this excited about a game of Little League baseball since I was personally playing."

"You played Little League?" Casey asked, with a soft smile that was usually reserved for Charlie.

"You find that hard to believe?"

"No." Casey didn't sound convincing in the least.

"You're casting my Little League days into disrepute?" He scowled at Casey, and was almost able to hide his grin. "You're throwing doubt on my personal history as a sportsman?"

"I'm not throwing doubt," Casey replied solicitously. "I was..."

"Yeah?"

Casey grinned. "I was having difficulty imagining you wearing the uniform."

"Well, I was a lot smaller then," Dan said with a shrug, and turned to the camera.

  


* * *

  
Abby leaned back in her chair as Dan reached for his coffee cup. "So, he was proud of Charlie?"

"Yeah. You should have seen him." Dan drank down another hot mouthful, and almost burned his tongue. He put the cup down on the coffee table, and decided to wait for it to cool. "He was grinning all day. All day. It was as if... as if he couldn't possibly be any prouder of Charlie."

Abby listened to his cheerful tone, and heard the slight concern underlying it. "You don't sound entirely happy about that."

Dan frowned in concentration. "It's not that I wasn't happy about it. It's just that... Casey can go a bit overboard when it comes to sports and Charlie. He doesn't mean to. He's a great guy, and he's a good father, a really good father, but... Deep down, he's got this secret wish that Charlie will turn around and be an incredible athlete."

"Any particular sport?" Abby asked curiously.

Dan laughed, picking up his cup again. "Not really. I think Casey would be proud of him if he played table tennis. It's just that... Casey wants him to be outstanding at something."

"A lot of fathers do," Abby offered with a quick shrug.

"It's not..." Dan started, and then broke off with a deep breath. "Don't get me wrong, Abby. It's not like he's one of those guys pushing their son into sports. He's... really good about it. Really supportive of Charlie. Never blames him when the team doesn't win, doesn't act disappointed in him if he didn't play well. He's a really good dad."

Abby nodded. "But?"

"But... sometimes I worry that he won't be. That he'll let himself dream too much about being the father of a great athlete, and he'll forget that Charlie's a great kid who isn't physically gifted."

"Have you mentioned this to him?"

Dan risked another sip of his coffee. It was almost cool enough to drink. "Yeah. I felt like an idiot, but yeah, I warned him."

  


* * *

  
"Casey?" Dan hedged, looking up at his partner. Casey was fiddling with his jacket: he'd somehow managed to get the sleeve caught in the zipper.

"Do you think they realized how much of a danger this is?" Casey asked, scowling down at his relatively new jacket, as if it was responsible for the Mets' latest loss.

"Do I think who knows how much of a danger what is?"

Casey tugged at the material in frustration and sighed. "Do you think the designers of this jacket -- of this rather expensive and cool jacket -- know how dangerous it is?"

"Probably. It's all part of a master plan: world domination."

"World domination?" Casey asked, finally looking up at him. He'd managed to get the other sleeve caught as well. "Through zippers?"

"Yep," Dan said, stepping over to Casey and pushing his hands away, well, as far away from the zipper as they could go. Carefully, he pulled the teeth away from the fabric. "Through zippers. Think about it. If they get all the capable, independent minds of this country trapped inside their own clothing, the world will be defenseless."

Casey shook his head. "You read too many comic books as a kid."

Dan looked up at him in shock. "Can there be such a thing as too many comics? I don't think so."

Casey was quiet for a while, staring down at Dan's hands fluttering against his wrists. "Is this going to take all night?"

"I don't know, Casey." Dan rolled his eyes at Casey's impatient tone. "Right now, you have two choices. Either stand here and wait for me to undo this mess, or rip your arms free and say goodbye to the two hundred dollars you spent on this last week."

Casey groaned, then brightened up. "Or, I could just leave like this, and work on it tonight."

"Which would be a great plan, except I don't think you could open our door at the moment," Dan pointed out, holding on to the material firmly.

There really wasn't any other word to describe the face Casey pulled. Casey pouted. "I could too."

"No, you couldn't," Dan stated firmly. From the look on Casey's face, he was going to argue this. "You want to try?"

Casey glared at him, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "I can open a door, Dan."

"Fine," Dan said, stepping back and walking over to the door. "Go ahead."

Casey walked over, his hands trapped in front of him like wounded birds. Leaning forward, Casey wrapped both hands around the handle to their office door and pulled it open. "See?"

Dan cocked an eyebrow at him. "And how are you going to walk through it?"

"I'm..." Casey said, and then his face fell. "I'm going to have trouble."

Dan laughed. "Yes, I think you are."

Casey scrunched his face up in concentration. "I could... I could use my foot to keep it open. Walk through that way."

"Which would be great, apart from the Great Toe Incident," Dan said, sniggering and remembering Casey's days of complaints after somehow squashing his toes under their swinging door.

Casey glowered at him. "You don't have to capitalize that."

"You could tell I was capitalizing?" Dan asked in surprise, running a hand over his short hair.

"Your capitals are very loud, Dan." Casey tried to glare, but his amusement shone through. "Now, give me a hand getting this off."

Grinning, Dan nodded towards the couch. "Sit. This could take a while."

Casey ducked his head and sighed tiredly. "Is it going to be a long while?"

"Is there any reason you think I'd know that?" Dan said, as he sat down beside Casey, half-kneeling on the couch to get a good view of the diabolical zipper.

"Not really." Casey sighed again. "So, was there something you wanted to talk about?"

Dan pulled at the left sleeve, gently trying to pull it away, and pry the teeth open at the same time. "About Charlie's game," he replied distractedly.

"What about it?" Dan didn't have to look up to know Casey was smiling.

"You're not going to go Psycho Sports Dad on him, are you?" Dan asked with a grin, glad he had an excuse to avoid Casey's eyes.

"What makes you think I'd do that?" Casey sounded offended, and a little hurt.

"I just... I know how much you want him to be great at baseball, Casey. I don't want you to make him think that..." Dan shrugged, concentrating on the zipper.

"What?" Casey asked gently.

"...that you'd love him any more if he won." Dan waited for Casey to object, to deny it. Sometimes you knew people were watching by the way their gaze burned a hole through your clothes. With Casey, it was an overwhelming heat, like someone had thrown an electric blanket over you. "You're a great dad. But you get so proud of him every time his team does well. I don't want you to get distracted by the sports, or distracted by who you want Charlie to be."

"I want Charlie to be who he is," Casey said confidently. When Dan looked up, Casey was watching him with something far too fond and far too gentle. "I'm not going to love him any more if he's first place or if he's last place."

Dan swallowed, and pulled the left sleeve free. Turning his attention to the other one, Dan said, "Make sure Charlie knows that, okay? He's such a good kid."

Casey's hand landed on his shoulder and Dan looked to find Casey smiling at him. "I'll make sure he knows. Thanks."

"You're a great father, Casey," Dan said, his voice slightly gruff.

"He's a great kid," Casey replied, nodding gently. "You know what he asked?"

"What?" Dan thankfully returned his concentration to the stuck zipper.

"He wanted to practice his pitches."

"Yeah?" Pulling lightly, Dan almost had the right sleeve free. Tugging just a little more, it finally gave, and came free in his hand.

"He asked if I'd help him on Sunday. Throw a ball around a bit." Casey stretched his arms out to either side, and Dan unzipped his jacket.

Dan grinned. "That's sweet."

Casey smiled proudly. "He asked if you wanted to come, too. If you're not too busy...?"

"Actually, I've got plans. Nothing major, just... stuff."

"Okay." Casey nodded, and stood, very carefully doing up his zipper. "Thanks."

  


* * *

  
"You didn't go?"

He looked up at Abby, blinking. "What?"

"On Sunday. You didn't play catch with Charlie and Casey?"

"Nah," Dan said with a wave of his hand.

"Why not?"

"It was..." He made another vague hand gesture. "It was a father-son thing. I would have been intruding."

"You were invited," Abby pointed out reasonably.

"I didn't... I didn't want to intrude, Abby. And I would have been." Dan picked up his coffee, taking a long drink. "I mean, sure, Charlie invited me, but Casey... Casey was so pleased that Charlie asked for help. He was beaming. It would have been impossible for his smile to get any wider."

"He's a father who's proud of his son."

"Yeah," Dan said, and couldn't help smiling. "He really is."

"When was the last time your father was proud?" Abby asked it in a gentle tone, the same reasonable tone she used for most of their sessions. It was like walking through a field on a warm summer's day and then finding mines hidden under the grass. "When was the last time you remember him being a proud father?"

Dan swallowed too quickly, causing an awkward coughing fit. "Do we really have to talk about this first thing in the morning?"

"We have to talk about it. It was your choice to make the session early."

"Yeah, but--" Dan objected, shaking his head slightly.

"When was it?" Abby said firmly, and Dan knew she wasn't going to let him weasel his way out of this.

"It would have been..." Dan started and then shrugged, buying time by sipping from his cup. Slowly. "David's wedding, probably."

  


* * *

  
The day was overcast and windy, but the forecast storms hadn't hit yet. The last week had been full of hectic activity, everyone rushing around trying to change the reception arrangements. Due to the forecast bad weather, a spring garden reception had needed to be moved indoors at very short notice.

The hall was a little crowded, the dance floor was packed, but all in all, it had turned out well. Looking around at the merry guests, no-one would realize the amount of panicked organization this day had caused. Everyone was laughing and celebrating, and no one cared if the tables were a little too close together, or the dance floor was a little crowded. Well, Dan's grandmother had complained a little, but compared to her normal bad temper, she was having a great time.

Searching through the sea of people, Dan looked for his brother. He spotted David's dark head above the crowd, over in one of the corners of the hall. Walking over, he threaded his way between tightly packed tables, avoiding the dance floor in the center. There was a part of Dan that wished he didn't have to leave while everyone was still having fun. He'd only managed to get a few days off work, and Dana had called that morning to both apologize and demand that he be back in time for an interview tomorrow morning.

There was another part of him that couldn't wait to be back in Texas, to be half a country away from people who looked at him and remembered him teasing Sam. It wasn't that he disliked his family, it was just that... it was awkward. Even around his mom, even around Sue, it was still awkward. And explaining to David why he had to leave was going to be worse.

David had spent all afternoon as the happy groom, being tracked down by those well-wishers that suddenly appear at weddings. His fiancée -- his wife, Dan mentally corrected himself -- was out of sight. Dan suspected that Sherri had run to the kitchen to hide. She was sweet and practical, but didn't particularly like crowds. There were times when he more than understood that feeling.

Easing his way through the crowd, Dan stopped when he saw his father was talking to David. "Dovi," his father said, smiling as he wrapped an arm around David's shoulders, "when you look back, this is going to be one of the happiest days of your life. I know that right now it's busy and stressful, and you're more worried about getting up in the morning and not missing your plane. But when you look back, you'll forget the crowds and the nerves. What you'll remember is the rabbi in front of you and the way Sherri smiled when she became your wife."

"Thanks, Dad."

Dan blinked as his father hugged David. It wasn't that his father wasn't physically affectionate. He was, but only occasionally.

With a final slap on the back, his father pulled away. He was smiling widely and if Dan hadn't known better, he'd think his father was close to tears. "And when I look back, I'll remember this as one of the proudest days of my life."

Dan couldn't remember the last time his father had looked so happy. Not when he'd graduated from Dartmouth, not when he'd got the job in Dallas. Not since... Dan shied away from trying to remember. He took a half step back and decided to go find his mom. She'd understand that he had to go back to work. She could tell everyone else after he'd left.

Unfortunately, his dad looked up just in time to spot him. "Danny, stop lurking over there."

Dovi and Danny; Sammy and Susie. According to his father, old nicknames never died.

Dan fixed a grin on his face as he walked over. "Great party, man," he joked to David as he patted him on the shoulder. His father shot him a sharp glance and he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. "You guys look really happy together."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dan noticed his father nodding his head, as if Dan was some pup that needed to be trained to behave in public.

David nodded. "That's because we are."

Dan grinned as he tried to parse that. He was pretty sure that was David's attempt at humor, but with their dad watching over them, he didn't want to laugh. Just in case. "I've got to get going. A thing came up at work, and they need me back tomorrow morning."

"You couldn't take a night off for your brother's wedding?" his father demanded.

"It's an unexpected interview. It was supposed to be scheduled for tomorrow night," Dan tried to explain. "We didn't think we'd get it in the first place and we can't afford to say no."

His father's brows lowered, as if Dan was being difficult just on general principle. "Is there a reason Casey couldn't do it? He seems to be better in those face-to-face interviews anyway."

Dan closed his eyes for a long moment and carefully, very carefully, kept the smile on his face. "No, he can't. He's busy shooting a story on the Cowboys."

"Hey, Dad, it's okay," David said, ever the peacemaker. "Danny lives on the other side of the country. He can't be expected to drop everything for his family."

His father shot David a proud look, and Dan could just hear the unspoken words: of course Dan couldn't put his family first; he's not like you, David. Dan set his jaw and buried his hands in his pockets. "My flight leaves tonight." He turned to David didn't know what to say. "I had a really good time and, you know. I'm sure you guys..." Dan shrugged and wished he was better at this stuff. He tried to remember what he'd said at Casey's wedding. "You started off strong and I'm sure your season's just going to get better."

David's brows lowered. "Thanks," he said in a slightly confused tone. Then he pulled Dan into a loose, one-armed hug. "Have a good flight."

"Yeah, you too." Dan looked over at his father and his dad nodded at him dismissively. "Give me a call if the trip to Austin happens," he offered lamely, "you might be able to stop over for a few days."

"By the time you factor in the cost of the extra flights and the extra time it takes," his father said with a shrug, "it's hardly worth it, Danny."

"Sure." And Casey wondered why he hadn't shown off the studio to his father. It had been one of the first things Casey had done: organized a big McCall road trip and shown his whole family around, grinning like a school kid with his first A.

"But, you know," his father added awkwardly. "If it's not too expensive, I'll stop by."

  


* * *

  
Dan glanced over at Abby. There were times when he thought it would be easier to talk to her if she just stopped watching him. "What?"

"He was proud of David?"

"That was the point of that story," Dan replied a little sarcastically. He didn't mean to be abrasive but talking about his dad... Abby would say it brought out old defensive strategies. That was shrink-talk for 'it made him uncomfortable'.

"Hmmm."

"What?"

Abby shrugged, moving the shoulders of her plum jacket. "It sounded like the point was that he wasn't proud of you."

"No. The point was that's the last time I remember him being proud." Dan leaned forward and swallowed a mouthful of warm coffee. "I mean, he's probably been proud sometime over the last six or seven years, but I don't see the family that much. I haven't *seen* him proud since then."

"When was the last time he was proud of you?"

The seconds ticked by on his watch. There was still a good twenty minutes of this session to go. "I don't know."

"Really?"

"It would have been a long time ago. We're not that close," Dan said. It was an understatement, and Abby knew that, but it didn't stop him from wanting to change the topic of conversation. He wanted to talk about anything but this.

"You don't know?"

"It was too long ago."

"Before Lone Star?" Abby asked, and Dan nodded. "Before Sam died?"

Dan guzzled the rest of his coffee. He should have bought a second one. Or maybe a third. "Yeah."

"Was he proud when you left for college?"

Dan swallowed, carefully avoiding that topic. Trying not to remember his father telling him that maybe without Dan around, Sam would start to see sense. That maybe he'd stop trying to live up to his delinquent brother. "Not particularly."

"What about when you got accepted at Dartmouth?"

"Not really," Dan hedged and Abby watched him, waiting for more. "I applied for a lot of good schools. Don't get me wrong, Dartmouth's a good school, but... Dad had hoped for..."

"For a different school?"

"For one further away, I think." Dan laughed, but it fell a little flat. "I applied for a lot of schools. Dartmouth's Ivy League: it's not a bad school."

Abby gestured for him to continue.

"We kept the acceptance letters. Dad piled them in the dining room. He said it was practical and I'd be able to make sure I got a reply from each school I applied for." Dan sighed, waving his hand vaguely as he spoke. "There's something very depressing about watching a pile of polite refusals slowly grow. I mean, I didn't have the best marks. Considering I did so little homework, it's a little amazing I even got into Dartmouth."

"Ah."

"Dad had a good point. It was an easy way to keep track of them. It was how I kept track of job applications after college."

"So when was he last proud of you?"

Dan made sure he didn't stop to look at his watch. "I really can't remember."

"When can you remember him being proud of you? Not the last time, just any time."

Dan chewed on his lower lip as he thought. It was easier to think of when his dad had been proud of David or Sam. He could have easily listed a dozen times from his childhood. More if he included the times his dad was proud of Susannah.

"Dan?"

"Um..." Dan tried to think of something more recent, but all that came to mind was Little League. "Did I tell you I used to play Little League?"

"You mentioned it," Abby replied.

"When I was nine, we won the season." Dan smiled, remembering the bright green grass of childhood memories. "Dad came to, like, all of the games that year."

"All of them?"

"It was before we moved to Connecticut, before he bought the store. So he had weekends off back then." Dan could almost remember the feel of the baseball bat in his hand. "He came to every single game. And when we won that final game, he was cheering as loud as any of the fathers there."

Abby nodded and he continued. "It wasn't as if I hit the home run or threw the strike that won the game, but Dad was so happy about it. He even took the family out to dinner to celebrate."

"What did he say to you about it?"

"Later, it would have been a couple of days later, he talked about baseball and how it meant more than a ball and a bat. The way that victories, whether they were expected or not, made the most conservative fans get to their feet and scream. Made people love their team and stand by them, even when they failed. Then he gave me a tape of the pennant game of 1951."

Abby looked a little confused. "Is there something I'm missing?"

"It was the Giants game. It's one of the greatest baseball games ever played." Dan stared at Abby for a moment, but she still looked blank. "'The Giants win the pennant'?"

"I don't know it."

"It's a great game." He leaned forward on the couch, and started to explain, "This is something you need to know. This was a play-off game between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Giants--"

"I'm not much of a sports fan, Dan."

"I know that, but this is something every person, whether a sports fan or not, should know. It will enrich your life."

Abby eyed him doubtfully. "If this is going to be about the complexities of baseball, it may go over my head."

"I'll keep it simple." Dan crossed his fingers over his heart and then held his palm up. "Promise."

"Okay."

"In 1951, the biggest baseball rivalry was between the Dodgers and the Giants. This was ingrained into fans. It was a tradition to hate people who supported the other team. With me so far?"

"Big rivalry. Got it."

"The Giants' were thirteen and a half games behind in August -- which is considered impossible, you might as well throw in the towel. But they didn't. They fought through the last weeks of the season, and in October, they were tied with the Dodgers for first."

"So they had to play off for it?"

Dan nodded. "Three games. They split the first two, and were down to the bottom of the ninth inning in the third game. Entrance to the World Series depended on that."

"So what happened?"

"The Dodgers brought in Ralph Branca to pitch. Branca threw and Bobby Thompson hit it," Dan said, swinging an imaginary baseball bat.

Abby laughed. "Home run?"

"Three-run home run. It was called the 'Shot Heard 'Round the World'. It sent the Giants through to the World Series."

"Did the Giants win the World Series?"

"No," Dan said, shaking his head and settling back onto the couch. "They lost to the Yankees, but that wasn't the point. The point was that they had this incredible comeback. They achieved something that everyone thought was impossible. The fans were ecstatic. Even the radio announcer was blown away. He kept shouting, over and over, 'The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant!'"

Abby tapped her finger on the desk as she thought. "I think I saw that on M*A*S*H*."

Dan laughed and stretched an arm along the back of the couch. "It was one of the most famous announcer calls. By this guy called Russ Hodges. You listen to that radio broadcast and you can hear the excitement. You can hear how much people love the game."

"Sounds like a good game."

"People who don't get sports should listen to it, should hear how sport speaks to something a lot deeper than technical performance or local loyalties. It's the battle, the struggle. It's achieving the impossible, because you want it that badly. It's fluking it, and doing better than you ever dreamed you could, and suffering heartbreaking losses. And getting up the next season to do it all again." Dan pulled his enthusiasm back and tried to stop ranting. "It means a lot, Abby. People think it's just a game, just entertainment, but it means a lot more than that."

"So I see."

Dan grinned. "Which is why I get paid to talk about it."

"So your dad gave you the tape a few days after you won your Little League game."

"Yep."

"How did he react the night of the game?"

"He took us out for dinner."

"How did everyone act?"

"Dad was really pleased," Dan said. "He kept telling everyone about it. Susie was bored witless and Mom wasn't much better. Sam was only seven and all he wanted to do was to play on my team. I spent the next two weeks playing catch with him after school."

"How about David?"

"David was good about it. Considering he was sharing the spotlight, he was more generous about it than I would have been." David had been fairly good natured about it, if you didn't count the way he 'accidentally' managed to spill his lemonade over Dan's sleeve.

"How did you steal his spotlight?"

"David was always the sporty one. If it involved a ball, he could play it. Sam was the brilliant son and David was the athletic son."

Abby leaned back in her chair, and pushed back a stray strand of hair. "Where did you fit in?"

"Somewhere in the middle?" Dan joked. Abby didn't look amused; he hadn't really expected her to be. "Sam was bright, David was athletic. Sue wasn't brilliant and she wasn't sporty, but she was a solid student who worked hard at it. She was the pleasing child, the one that was pleasant to be around."

"And you?"

"I was probably the unpleasant one."

"Why?"

"The only thing I really excelled at was driving Dad nuts. By the time I was fourteen, Dad and I were having outright arguments, standing in my room yelling."

"About what?"

"Anything." Dan shrugged. "Everything."

"Give me an example."

Dan grimaced. "You know the tape I had of the Giants' game?"

"The one you just told me about?"

"I used to listen to it every night. I shared my room with Sam, but I used to go up after dinner and listen to the tape." Dan tried to grin. "That was a casualty of one of our arguments."

  


* * *

  
Danny ignored the pounding of heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs, and turned the tape player up louder. He stretched out on his bed and stared up at the Depeche Mode poster above him, waiting for the heavy knocks on his bedroom door.

As expected, the footsteps quieted and were replaced with the sound of his father's knuckles pounding on the door. "Danny! Turn that down!"

Dan crossed his arms behind his head and listened to the seventh inning.

"Danny!" his father bellowed as he opened the door. Not for the first time, Dan wished the lock to his room actually worked. "Turn it down, now. We can hear it downstairs."

Dan sneered. "No."

"Daniel Rydell, get up and turn that noise down."

"It's not noise -- it's a game, Dad. And I'm listening to it." He sat up as his father took another step into the room.

"I am not in the mood for this, Danny." It wasn't a surprise. As far as Dan could see, his father was never in the mood for anything that involved him. Of course, if it involved *David* it was a completely different story.

Danny crossed his arms, refusing to get up off the bed. "I had the door shut."

"You do not need to blare that. Turn it down." His father huffed and walked over to the tape machine. "Or even better, turn it off and come downstairs. Try to pretend that you're part of this family."

"I was listening to the game--"

"You've listened to it for years," his father growled out. "You probably know it off by heart."

"So?"

"So you can do without it for one night," his father replied as he hit eject.

Dan leaped off the bed as his dad took the tape out. "Give it back!"

"You can have it back tomorrow, Danny," his father said firmly. "Tonight, you can go downstairs and stop hiding in your room."

"Give it back!" Dan yelled, jumping up and trying to grab the tape. Instead of grabbing the plastic casing, he missed and his fingers caught on the black strip of magnetic tape.

His father took a surprisingly quick step backwards. "Danny, don't--"

But Dan had already lost his balance, and started to fall, with the tape still caught over his fingers. It unreeled from the casing with a frenzied wheeze of little plastic wheels turning. The high-pitched squeal of the tape stretching seemed to go on forever and then it snapped as Dan hit the floor.

Dan stared at the shriveled ends of tape in horror.

"Now, come downstairs."

"Yes, sir," he replied sullenly, staring at the carpet.

His father threw the tape into the wastebasket sitting under his desk. "*Now*, Danny."

Dan pushed himself up and followed downstairs.

  


* * *

  
Dan played with the cardboard coffee cup, slowly bending it out of shape. "It wasn't that he did it on purpose. It was just an accident. But, god. I mourned that tape more than I mourned the family cat when I was five."

"It was important to you." Abby looked over at the clock on her desk, and frowned. "I was going to ask you more about your trip tonight, but we've run out of time."

"That's okay," Dan replied as he stood up and, regardless of the morning's caffeine intake, yawned. "I think there'll be plenty of time for the trauma next week."

Abby walked him to the door. "You've got my number. You know you can always give me a call."

"Yeah."

"I may not be able to answer right away, but I will call you back."

Dan laughed. "It'll be fine. But if I need to talk to you, I'll call."

"Good."

  


* * *

  
"You know," Dan said as he walked through Abby's door, "it's kind of comforting to be here on a Tuesday afternoon again."

Abby gave him a warm smile. "Good afternoon, Dan."

"I have my manhood back." Dan stood in the middle of the room and stretched his arms above his head. It was a proud moment. "I have reclaimed my manhood."

Abby looked confused. "Last week's visit went well?"

"No, no, no, no. My manhood has nothing to do with my family." Dan paused for a moment, grimacing. "And, man, did that sound wrong."

"How was the visit?"

"Full of the regular Rydell fun," Dan said dismissively. "Alternately awkward, heartfelt and uncomfortable. But on the good side, Mom baked cookies."

Abby's eyes narrowed, watching him calmly. "It was bad?"

"Not really." Dan shrugged. "Besides, there were cookies. You can't underestimate the importance of home-baked cookies. I should bring you some."

"Are you okay, Dan? You seem," Abby paused, tilting her head, "a little edgy."

Dan grinned and bounced on his heels a couple times. "I'm excited."

"Because of cookies?"

"I have cookies and I have my manhood back." Dan spread his arms wide. "What more can any man ask for?"

Abby raised an eyebrow. "I could think of a few things."

Dan laughed, and sat down. He stretched his arms along the back of the couch, and said, "I don't think you understand how important this is. Natalie has had my manhood for too long, and eventually, using cunning and a small amount of deception, I have won my manhood back."

"Okay, I give in," Abby said with a long-suffering sigh. She pushed her black pen away from her and laid her palms down on the desk.

"Huh?"

"What are you talking about?"

Dan leaned forward, pressing his palms flat against the coffee table. "I am talking about the 'Celebrities' game we played on Friday night. I got serious about it, and I won."

"You won?"

"Well, my team won," Dan amended, "but it was because of my sneaky plan."

Abby shook her head quickly. "I'd have thought that a group of sports fan would care more about good sportsmanship."

"There's the winners and the losers, Abby, and desperate times call for desperate measures."

"So you cheated?"

"I didn't cheat so much as..." Dan said, bobbing his head from side to side, "sabotage."

"How?"

"I conned Natalie into taking the worst player in the office."

  


* * *

  
Natalie grinned sharply, brandishing the coin like a weapon of mass destruction. "You know you're going to lose, right?"

"Not this time." Dan shook his head. "This is the day when I reclaim my manhood."

"I don't think so."

"It will be."

"I think," Natalie paused, looking around the empty conference room, "this is the day when you carry me around the office on your shoulders. Much like the last time we played. And the time before that."

"Not this time."

"And the time before that," Natalie continued with a grin.

"This time, you're going down."

Natalie snorted. "Flip the coin, Rydell."

Rolling his eyes, Dan took the quarter out of Natalie's hand. "How come I always flip?"

"Because that's the consolation awarded to the loser," Natalie explained slowly, clearly enjoying herself. "And you always lose."

"Then next time," Dan replied, tossing the coin in the air and catching it on the back of one hand, "you'll be the one flipping, Hurley." He carefully covered the coin with his other hand.

"Those are big words from a big loser."

"Call it."

Natalie grinned widely. "Heads." When Dan pulled back his hand, he saw the metallic face looking up at him. "I take Dave."

Dan blinked, surprised that she'd made such an obvious mistake. "Then I'm taking Jeremy."

"You can't have him."

"I just claimed him."

Natalie frowned. "You *can't* have him."

"Why not?"

"Because he was my boyfriend."

Dan rolled his eyes. "He's now your ex."

"But we could be getting back together," Natalie said firmly, pushing dark hair out of her eyes. "So he can't be playing against me. He can't."

"You can't have Dave and Jeremy."

Natalie sighed. "Fine. I'll swap you. Happy?"

"Okay." Dan nodded, and wrote down the start of the teams on his pad of paper.

"You'll still lose," Natalie said decisively. "Anyway, I'll take Dan--"

Dan waved his finger at her. "Uh-uh!"

"What?"

"You just swapped me. You can't swap and then have another turn." Natalie opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself. Dan continued, "It's my turn."

"Fine." Natalie rested a hand against her hip. "You'll just pick Casey, anyway."

Dan grinned. "I choose Dana." He added Dana's name to his list.

Natalie glared at him. "You can't have Dana."

"I just picked her."

"I don't care. You can't have her."

Dan sat down on the conference table and swung his legs. "Why not?"

"This game was originally me and Dana against you and Casey. You can't change it now."

"I picked Dana."

"She should be on *my* team," Natalie replied, pointing at herself.

"Are you going to give me Jeremy?"

"You can't have Dave and Jeremy. You said yourself that was unfair."

"Then, there's no one on your team I want to swap with." Dan leaned his arms back against the glass tabletop, grinning smugly at Natalie. "Dana's on my team tonight."

"You fight dirty, Rydell." Natalie scowled at the team listing for a long moment, and then looked up with a savage glint in her eye. "But if you take Dana, I take Casey."

"Okay. I dibs Isaac."

  


* * *

  
"You got Natalie to take Casey?" Abby asked.

Dan beamed. "Uh-huh. It was a stroke of genius."

"How come?"

"Because Casey sucks at 'Celebrities'. He doesn't mean to, but that man has an astounding lack of talent for the game." Dan shifted back on the couch. "The guy thought Veronica was in the Monkees."

"Veronica?" Abby's brows jumped up. "As in the Archie comics?"

"Exactly." Dan winced. "He doesn't mean to, but... He does tend to sabotage our score."

"So you got him on Natalie's team?"

"Stroke of genius!" Dan boasted proudly.

"What did Casey have to say about it?"

Dan felt his smile droop. "Casey took a bit of convincing. For a guy who follows Napoleon, he doesn't always trust other people's plans."

  


* * *

  
Dan walked into their office and found Casey sitting at the table, flipping through the Times' sports section. Dragging another chair over, he sat beside Casey and stared at him hopefully. "Casey?"

Casey looked up, and immediately sounded suspicious. "Yeah?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"What type of favor?" Casey asked carefully.

"An important favor. A vital favor." Dan smiled warmly at him. "A favor that would mean a lot to me."

"Is it going to be embarrassing?"

"Possibly."

"Then why would I do it?"

"Because I am asking you as your best friend. I am forsaking all pride and begging you to help me."

Casey snorted and folded the newspaper up. "I don't think so, Danny."

Dan let his head drop to the table. "You have to help me beat Natalie. You have to, Casey."

"I always try to help you."

"She has my manhood."

"In her little Prada bag," Casey added.

"I have to beat her."

Casey nodded. "I completely agree."

"So you'll help me? You'll do this favor?"

"What's the favor, Danny?" Casey asked uncertainly. It was a positive sign.

"I need you to sabotage Natalie's team."

"That sounds like the kind of favor that will result in me not wearing pants."

"Possibly," Dan admitted. "But if you end up pantsless, I promise I will go without pants, for the sake of solidarity."

Casey watched him carefully. "For the sake of solidarity?"

"Or, if possible, I will lend you my pants. I will give you my pants and I will go pantsless. That is how important this favor is to me."

"Stop saying pantsless." Casey sighed. "What precisely do I have to do?"

Dan grinned. "That's the beauty of it. You play at your usual terrible standard. That's all you need to do."

"And that'll sabotage Natalie's team?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

Dan took a deep breath. "You'll be on Natalie's team."

Casey raised an eyebrow at him. Dan tried not to squirm. After a short silence, Casey said, "You didn't pick me?"

"It's part of my cunning ploy."

"I've been your best friend for ten years, and you didn't pick me?"

"Well, no." Casey started to scowl, so Dan quickly explained, "I was going to, but Natalie picked you first."

"She won the coin toss?"

Dan nodded. "Yeah."

"She picked me first?" Casey asked doubtfully.

"No. She picked Dave."

"And you picked...?"

"Jeremy." Dan shrugged apologetically. "And if I'd gotten to keep Jeremy, I would have picked you next."

"Why didn't you?"

"Natalie claimed that she might get back together with Jeremy someday, so he had to be on her team. She swapped me Dave."

Casey snorted loudly. "Then what happened?"

"I got to pick, and I picked Dana."

"Dana?"

"Yeah."

"The woman who can't translate basic Spanish?"

"Yeah."

"You picked *Dana* over me?" Casey asked, standing up.

Dan winced and followed Casey over to the desk. "I was trying to psych Natalie out."

"Did it work?"

"She was pretty flustered," Dan assured him. "So, you know, it possibly worked."

Casey frowned. "And you think breaking Dana and Natalie up will allow you to win?"

"I want to win, Casey. I really, really want to."

"And in order to win, you didn't pick me," Casey said peevishly.

"I thought you could take down the establishment from the inside!"

"Man, did you back the wrong horse," Casey muttered as he sat down at the desk.

"You're not going to help?"

"No, I'm not." Casey glared up at him. "In fact, I'm going to go out of my way to make sure Natalie wins. Just so she can keep your manhood stuffed in her pink Prada purse."

Dan perched on the edge of the desk. "Look, Casey, it's not--"

"Go away." Casey shooed him with both hands.

Dan blinked at him. "What?"

Casey pointed at the couch. "There is an entire half of the office that you can use to write your script. This half of the office is reserved for Natalie's teammates only."

  


* * *

  
"He didn't take it so well," Abby summarized.

"He really didn't," Dan agreed. "But he played his heart out, and managed to embarrass a different team, so in the end, it all worked out. He played earnestly, I still won my manhood back, and he was over it by Monday."

"He held a grudge over the weekend?"

Dan laughed. "Oh, yeah. Regardless of his other failings, Casey has a real skill at holding grudges. When he puts some effort into it, he can stay mad for a long time."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "Did he forgive you later?"

"Yeah." Dan nodded "Not until Sunday, though. Which was when my foresight saved our dignity."

  


* * *

  
Casey looked down sheepishly, which was a big improvement on the frosty frown he'd had glued to his face yesterday. Then again, it was somewhat hard to be impersonal when standing around in a shirt, tie, jacket and boxers. "This could be my fault."

Dan looked up, struggling to contain his grin. "Really?"

Casey grimaced and nodded. "I might have mentioned your plan to Natalie."

"But you didn't go along with the plan," Dan pointed out as he lifted his gym bag on to the table. "Why did you tell her?"

"I was complaining about being picked last. It kind of... slipped out."

"Casey, Casey, Casey," Dan said, shaking his head. "There are some things you just shouldn't tell a woman. Telling her that a friend tried to convince you to dupe her but you didn't go along with it? Never a good confession to make."

"Apparently not." Casey sighed and crossed his arms, feeling defensive. Or possibly cold, due to the air conditioning. "So, yeah. Sorry about having to do the show tonight without pants. And for being so petty about it all yesterday."

"Ah, and there's the magic word," Dan said, pulling his gym bag open.

"What?"

"Sorry." Dan pulled two pairs of sweatpants out of the bag, and handed one pair to Casey. "They should fit."

Casey grinned, holding the material tight in his hands. "You brought me pants?"

"I was waiting for Natalie to retaliate. It had to come sooner or later." Dan grinned, and toed his shoes off. "This time, I wanted to be prepared."

  


* * *

  
Abby blinked, turning a pen between French-polished fingers. "I'm happy to say I've never had a colleague steal my pants in retaliation."

"You don't know what you're missing," Dan said with a chuckle. "It brings a certain sense of freedom."

"I'll take your word for it." Abby tapped her pen against her desk. "Are you going to tell me about the cookies, too?"

Dan spread his hands in a shrug. "What's to tell? My mom bakes great cookies."

"Yeah?"

"Her chocolate chip cookies are divine. Her peanut butter cookies melt in your mouth." Dan closed his eyes, remembering the scent of freshly baked cookies. "I'm not kidding. These are the best you will ever taste."

"So she cooked when you went back home?"

"Everyone relaxes on the Sabbath, but my mom bakes cookies."

"The Sabbath? As in Saturday?"

Dan nodded. "Yeah. She's always done it early in the day, and all afternoon, all you can smell is chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies."

Abby smiled. "She made cookies for you on Saturday?"

"Yeah. It was just like being a kid again. Walking into the kitchen and just smelling it." Dan grinned. "I'll bring some in, and you'll see I'm not exaggerating."

"Didn't you say you were going to see your family Tuesday?"

"I left Monday night," Dan said, wary of the change of conversation. "Came back Tuesday afternoon."

"But your mom cooked for you on Saturday?"

Dan blinked, trying to backtrack. "She didn't cook for me, she just cooks on Saturdays."

"But she cooked, and you were there, right?"

"No. I--" It was only a slight pause, but Dan was sure Abby heard it. "I didn't have this Saturday off. I was working."

Abby blinked. "What about last Saturday? You had that off."

"Yeah, I did." Dan carefully didn't cross his arms. He tried not to tense up, but he could feel his back going stiff.

"Did you see your family?"

"No, I didn't."

"You told Casey you were too busy to play catch with Charlie last weekend."

"I didn't want to intrude. Besides, I was busy."

"Seeing your family?"

"I was packing. Cleaned the house a little."

"Did you see them?"

"I--" Dan closed his mouth, uncertain of what to say. "So what if I did? They're my family. It's not a big deal."

Abby nodded slightly. "It isn't."

"So why--"

"The big deal is that you purposely lied to me."

Dan carefully unclenched his hand. "I can see my family whenever I want, Abby. I don't have to okay it with you."

"I never said you did," Abby replied calmly. "I just don't see why you felt the need to lie to me about it."

"I'm allowed to have my privacy," Dan muttered.

"Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you tell Casey? Or anyone else?"

"They don't need to know."

"But why do you need to hide it?"

"I'm not hiding it," Dan replied brusquely. Shifting on the couch, Dan let his gaze wander across Abby's shelves. From one of the frames, a blonde squinted against the flash of the camera. "I'm just not advertising it."

"You're going out of your way to lie about it."

"So?"

"You're hiding it," Abby said evenly. "Your friends wouldn't think any worse of you because you don't get on with your family."

"I never said they would."

"So why not tell them?"

"They don't need to know."

Abby was quiet for a long moment, and then she leaned back in her seat. "They already know you don't get on so well with your family, right?"

Dan snorted. "It's not like I've taken out a billboard sign saying 'dysfunctional son here'."

"But Casey knows, at least?"

"Yeah," Dan acknowledged with a shrug, "Casey knows."

Abby paused for a moment, watching him in that way she had, watching as if she could see the cracks start to form. "Then why not tell him that you're visiting family? When he asked you to play catch with him and Charlie, why not mention it?"

"Because he doesn't need to know--" Dan stopped. He stared at the carpet, concentrating on working his jaw in a circle, feeling the tension in his cheeks.

"What doesn't he need to know?" Abby asked firmly. Dan kept his eyes locked on the brownish-grey carpet. "It's not that you don't get on with your family, because he already knows that. So what's the complication?"

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his nose. When he opened them, he still couldn't face Abby. "It's not important."

"It's important to you."

Dan huffed and started shaking his head. "It's-- Abby. It's not. Really-- It's not."

"What is it?"

Licking his lips, Dan briefly wondered why he'd shown up today. If he'd been with Casey, he never would have had to talk about this stuff; Casey never pushed this hard.

"Danny?"

"My dad--" His throat closed up. Dan swallowed and started again. "He isn't well."

"He's sick?" She sounded concerned, but he didn't trust himself to look up. Instead, he just nodded. "Is it serious?"

He nodded again.

"And are you okay?"

"That's a really loaded question, Abby."

"Fair enough," she said with a small, sympathetic smile. "But are you going to be okay? Do you want to make another appointment this week?"

Dan shook his head. "I'll be fine." His voice sounded far too brittle.

"Danny?"

"I'll be fine," he repeated and this time it sounded believable. His watch said it was time to go, so he stood up. He'd never been happier to leave a therapy session. "I'll see you next week, okay? And if I need you, I know how to pick up a telephone and make an appointment."

Abby nodded. "Don't take this the wrong way, Danny, but I'll be expecting that call."

Dan shrugged and walked out the door.

  


* * *

  
Abby's voice came down the telephone crisp and clear. "Hi, Danny."

"Since you're expecting this call, I didn't want to disappoint you."

"How considerate of you."

"Well, I know I'm the highlight of your day," Dan replied smoothly.

"Did you want to come in?"

"Do you have time?"

Abby paused for a moment. "How about six tonight?"

"I have a rundown at eight," Dan said quickly, watching the busy bullpen through the glass wall. Casey was bent over Jeremy's desk, stabbing a report with his index finger. Apparently, there was a difference of opinion.

"So come in for a session at six. You should have plenty of time to get back."

"Yeah, but..."

"What?"

Dan shook his head. "I don't know."

"I'll see you at six?"

"Sure." Dan glanced up, and saw Casey gesturing at him to come over. "I've got to go."

"I'll see you tonight."

  


* * *

  
"You look tired," Abby said as Dan collapsed into her couch.

He sighed. "I don't always sleep so well in hotel beds."

"I thought you had last night off?"

Dan nodded. "I was in Connecticut."

"You've been seeing your family on your days off?"

"It means I've been down there about two days a week. I should be down more often but..." Dan gave a tiny shake of his head. "The commute just kills me. It's like three hours there and another three back, and I've only got twelve hours off."

"Okay."

Dan rubbed his forehead. "I mean, I guess I could do it if I wasn't driving. But it would still be hard, and--"

"Danny," Abby interrupted. "You don't have to justify it."

"I feel like I should." Dan slouched further into the couch. "David lives a suburb away. Sue took her kids with her and she's staying with Mom. I drop in once a week."

"You don't live close to your parents. That distance is an obstacle. I'm sure they understand that."

"I-- It's just--" Dan stopped and tried to get his thoughts in order. He was tired, and only part of it was lack of sleep. The rest was an emotional weariness, an exhaustion caused by Mom's shaky smiles and David's hard jaw. "I've always been the prodigal son to Dad. I've always been the one that's out of touch, the one that's unreliable. The selfish one who never goes out of his way. I don't want Mom to think of me like that."

"I'm sure she doesn't."

"Then again, she's been living with Dad for a lot of years. She probably already knows I'm--"

"Danny," Abby said firmly, "does your Mom love you?"

"Yes."

"Has she complained about you not being down more often? Has she asked you to take time off?"

"No, it's just--" Dan stopped when Abby held up her hand.

"Then I'm sure she understands." Abby shook her hair out of her eyes. "You need to be careful in this type of situation."

Dan snorted.

"You're under a lot of emotional pressure and so is everyone else in your family. Things can be misconstrued, comments can be taken out of context and you need to remember that," Abby explained. "The people who know us best can hurt us the most, and in situations like this, they don't always mean to."

"They don't, huh?"

"They don't, but it still hurts. I'm just saying don't let your issues with your dad affect the relationship with your mom. You know she loves you, you know she supports you. That isn't going to change if you can't drop everything to be there right now."

Dan sighed. "I could drop everything. I could take time off and go down to stay with them like Sue has."

Abby picked up her pen and started twirling it through her fingers. Dan suddenly thought of marching bands and batons; the way Sue used to be able to throw the spinning stick into the air and catch it one-handed. "Why don't you?"

"I can't."

"Why not?" she asked.

"What?"

"Why can't you take the time off?"

"I just can't."

"Did Isaac say no?"

Dan shook his head. "No."

"Then why can't you take the time off?"

"I can't, Abby. I can't."

"If you can't take the time off," Abby said gently, "why do you feel guilty that you haven't?"

"I--" The couch was soft and comfortable, and right now, all Dan wanted to do was hide behind it. "I haven't asked Isaac. I could probably have the time off, but I'd have to ask Isaac. I'd have to tell him."

"And that would be bad?"

Dan nodded. "That's what I'm saying."

"Who have you told?"

"What?"

"Who knows about your father's health?"

"Well, you do."

"Who else?"

"All the family." Dan tried to grin. "There's a bunch of Rydells sending him their best wishes. More cousins than I knew I had."

"Who else?"

Dan shrugged. "I don't know. I guess there's some friends of the family. And, you know, doctors and nurses."

"So you've only told one person?" Abby asked carefully. "Just me?"

"It's not something everyone needs to know."

"I'm not suggesting you take out an ad in the New York Post. I'm asking why you haven't told your friends."

"They don't need to know."

"Dan, do you remember when you first came to see me?"

"I remember not liking it very much," Dan said with annoyance. "And that hasn't changed."

"You complained about talking about your family. You told me you were closer to the people you work with, so why did you have to talk about your family." Abby pierced him with a look. "Is that still true?"

Dan shrugged.

"Would you still say you're closer to your friends than your family?"

Dan shrugged again. "I see them more often."

"But are you emotionally closer to them?"

Dan stood up, glancing at his watch. "Look, I've got a rundown meeting. I've got to go."

"Sit down, Danny." He noticed that Abby didn't stand up. She just kept sitting at her desk, watching him in that unsurprised way she had. Just once, he'd like her to be shocked, he'd like her not to act as if she'd seen this before. As if she knew what he was going to say before he did.

"The rundown meeting doesn't start until eight," she said, shooting a meaningful glance at the clock. It wasn't even six thirty yet. "And I think you need to talk."

"I don't need to talk." He crossed his arms and leaned against her wall. He didn't have to sit if he didn't want to.

"Why did you call me?"

"I told you," Dan managed, "I didn't want to disappoint you."

Abby smiled. "Why did you really call me?"

There was a long silence. Eventually, Dan mumbled, "I just felt like I was going to snap at someone. And I thought if I snapped at anyone, it should be you."

"What actually happened to your dad?" Abby asked softly. She tilted her head down and dark brown hair fell across her eyes.

This time, the silence was longer. "He had a heart attack a couple weeks ago. They've tried putting him on medication and it's not working as well as they thought it would, so they've booked him in for every test they could imagine."

"Do they know what's wrong with him?"

Dan tucked his chin against his chest. "Not really. The doctor said he might need surgery, bypass surgery or something else, but they don't know which would be better. And apparently some of the results were confusing, or conflicting, or something. We don't really know what's going on." He drew in a big breath and added, "It sucks, Abby. It really, really sucks."

"I can imagine." Abby gestured at the couch. "Do you want to sit down now?"

Dan shrugged, and then nodded. "Whatever."

"Do you want to know my advice?" Abby asked carefully after he'd sat down.

"I'm shelling out seven hundred dollars a month. It can't hurt."

"Tell your friends about this. Make it real."

Dan's head shot up. "What?"

"That's what you're doing, isn't it? Making it a little less real by keeping it separated from the rest of your life. Because if it's just me, it doesn't really count, right?"

He held his hands up in front of him, as if that would stop her. "Abby, I'm not--"

"You're not what? You're not spending your day making sure that nobody finds out? You're not putting as much effort as possible into appearing normal and keeping the people that care the most about you at a safe distance?"

"I just need a place where this isn't happening. What's wrong with me wanting to spend a few hours a day doing my job and not wondering if my dad's going to be all right?"

"Tell someone."

Dan shook his head. "It'd be too hard. I can't."

"Danny, the people you're not telling are the ones that would support you. They're your friends. They'd want to help."

"I don't need their help," Dan shot back angrily. "I can handle this."

"Except for the way that you're hiding from it," Abby pointed out far too calmly.

"Abby, I don't--" Dan realized he was shouting, and stopped. "I can do this without them."

"You don't have to."

"I don't have to be here, either," Dan said as he walked out her door.

She caught up to him in the empty waiting room. "Dan!"

"What?" he demanded, spinning around on his heel.

"You need to think about why you're hiding this." She didn't step any closer. "They're your friends. They're not going to hold it against you if you crack up a little over this."

Dan swallowed. "I can do this by myself."

"What about Isaac's stroke?"

"What?"

"Would you have preferred Esther told everyone he'd gone on holiday for a few months? Would you prefer not knowing about it until it was over, until after Isaac had recovered?"

"Of course not," Dan replied quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because--" Dan sighed, realizing that Abby had switched the argument on him. "Fine. Because he's a friend and we all wanted to help him, in whatever way we could."

Abby nodded. "So?"

"So I'll think about telling them," Dan conceded. "I'm not promising anything, and it's not like they could find the cure if I did tell them, but I'll think about it."

"Give it some serious consideration. And if you need to talk, you know my number."

Dan grimaced a little. "I'll see you on Tuesday."

  


* * *

  
Dan held the phone handset against his ear. "Hey, Abby."

"I notice you're not here," she replied.

"That's why I called."

Abby sighed, a little show of frustration that made her seem reassuringly human. "Is there a reason you're calling me instead of coming into my office? Sessions are generally easier face to face."

"I'm in Connecticut."

"What happened?"

"Dad's results came in. He's booked in for surgery this week." Dan paused, looking around at his empty hotel room. Cream walls, pale green carpet and a patterned maroon bedspread: it was like sleeping in someone's tastefully decorated Christmas. The matching maroon curtains were pulled to one side, revealing a grey, Connecticut day. "I took the week off."

"Ah."

Dan couldn't help grinning. "That's all you're going to say?"

"I'm waiting for you to talk, Danny."

"Ah," he mimicked.

"What's happened since I saw you?"

"This, that." Dan waved a hand at the beige-painted walls. "Regular stuff."

"Danny."

"It's just been...hectic. Kind of crazy." Dan sucked in a deep breath. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"I told Natalie about Dad. And most of the office, actually. Including Isaac. Then I had a little misunderstanding with Casey. And the results came in." Dan paused. "You know, when I say it like that, it doesn't sound so hectic."

"Then maybe you should tell me in more detail."

Dan sighed, and settled down on the double bed, too tired to argue. "Where do I start?"

"What happened first?"

"The thing with Natalie."

"Okay."

"She was trying to get a rematch on the 'Celebrities' game, because she'd been sabotaged."

"But Casey didn't, right?"

"Yeah. He played fair and square," Dan said, running a hand through his hair. "But Natalie wouldn't believe it."

  


* * *

  
"He didn't sabotage you," Dan repeated for the umpteenth time.

"He told me about the plan," Natalie replied, standing firmly in the doorway to the editing room, effectively trapping Dan inside.

"There was a plan. A cunning ploy. Casey refused to help."

"I'm supposed to believe that?"

Dan stared at her. "It's true."

"And him managing to foul up two turns in a row?"

"Is the way Casey plays," Dan replied earnestly. "You know that."

"I know that you're cunning and deceptive." Natalie strode into the room and closed the door behind her. "And apparently, you'll go to any lengths to get your manhood back."

"Casey did his best." Dan rolled his neck around, really not in the mood for this. He'd seen Abby on Thursday, meaning that he hadn't been at his best that night. Now it was Friday, and all he wanted was to do a good show, but that wouldn't happen if Natalie didn't let him finish his script. "The one who sabotaged your team was you, by choosing Casey in the first place."

Natalie boggled at him. "You took Dana."

"And you took Casey. So suck it up and deal with the consequences." Dan shook his head and grabbed at his notes. "Now could you move? I do have a script to write."

"What crawled up your shorts and died?" Natalie leaned her back against the closed door and rested her hands on her hips.

"Natalie, will you just--" Dan took a few steps towards her and nearly pulled her away from the door by force. He stopped guiltily, with his hands hanging just above her shoulders.

"Dan?" She swallowed, but other than that, she didn't back down at all. He had to admire that. "What's going on?"

He shook his head and took a quick step away. "Nothing, Nat. I'm just--"

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." He trailed off. He didn't mean to try to physically intimidate her, it wasn't the type of thing he'd do. But he almost had. "Sorry."

"You're sorry?" Natalie echoed, her dark eyes wide. Then she brushed a hand over her forehead and shook her head quickly, and that stunned look was gone. "What's going on? You've been... weird. For a while now. What is it?"

"It's--" Dan closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he could keep it away by sheer willpower. "I'm fine."

"You're really not." Natalie chuckled nervously. "I mean, you're normally not quite normal, but lately you've been..."

"What?"

"You've been really chirpy, Dan," Natalie said seriously, as if 'bright and cheery' wasn't her middle name.

"You're chirpy all the time," Dan shot back. He tried not to think about Abby's advice.

"That's different."

"Why?"

"I'm naturally chirpy. You? Not so much."

"Natalie, I'm--"

"Don't lie to me, Dan Rydell. I will find out about it and I will make you pay."

"I'm worried about my dad." Suddenly, his words came out in a rush, to fast to stop them. "He had a heart attack and they say it's serious and it could get worse, fast, and there's nothing I can do about it, Nat."

Her ferocious expression crumpled into a worried frown. "Oh." Then she was holding him tight and he was so close to tears it was embarrassing. He really hoped Abby was right about this stuff.

He buried his face against her shoulder and muttered, "It's okay. It's not a big deal. Really."

"It's your father," she replied softly. "Of course it's a big deal."

"It's one guy." He pulled back, blinking away the excess moisture in his eyes. "It's not going to stop the world from turning."

"When did you find out?"

Dan shrugged. "A couple weeks ago."

Natalie's mouth tightened. Then she hit him, *hard*. "Moron."

"Hey!" Dan rubbed his arm. "What was that for? Where's the comfort and sympathy?"

Her glare remained. "If you'd told us sooner, that wouldn't have happened."

"That's supposed to be incentive to tell you?"

"Pain avoidance usually is," Natalie replied firmly. Then she grinned at him, a classic Natalie Hurley 'Spill the Beans' Special. It made this seem a lot easier.

"So what's happening?"

"Lots of tests, trying to figure out how to deal with it." Dan shrugged. "At the moment, we're waiting on results."

"Medication?" Natalie asked, frowning at her clipboard. "Or surgery?"

"The medication doesn't seem to be doing the trick. So..."

"You're waiting on test results."

"And then, it's probably surgery." Dan swallowed. "I've got Monday off, so I'll go down and see them then, but… At the moment, there's not much anyone can do."

"And you were too much of a moron to mention this?" she asked, rather fondly.

"Pretty much."

"We could send flowers," Natalie suggested.

Dan actually sniggered. "My dad's not much of a flowers guy."

"Then we'll send them to your mom. I'll get Kim to--" Natalie stopped, and blinked at Dan. "Does Kim know? If not, I'll get Jeremy to help."

"Jeremy doesn't know either."

"Huh," Natalie replied. "Do you want me to tell him?"

"You might as well," Dan said, feeling like a coward. "I've basically only told you."

Natalie nodded, obviously understanding. "It's hard to tell people this stuff. I can let everyone know, if you want."

"Thanks." Dan glanced over as Jeremy tapped on the glass window. "Apparently, we're needed." He walked over and held the door open for Natalie.

"You know," Natalie said, as she paused in the doorway, "this is the type of thing friends gear up for."

Dan smiled, and it was the closest he'd felt to normal for days. "I might have heard that somewhere before."

  


* * *

  
"Natalie told everyone?" Abby asked.

Dan nodded, and then realized she wouldn't be able to see that all the way from Manhattan. "Yeah."

"How did they react?"

"It was… weird. Good, but weird," Dan clarified. "Kim hugged me at the craft services table, which is always enjoyable. Jeremy said he'd keep Dad in his prayers. Everyone stopped by to say something."

"So it wasn't as hard as you thought it would be?"

"Your advice wasn't totally insane," Dan admitted. "The next day, Dana talked to me in the editing room and told me about her uncle. He had a heart attack fifteen years ago and had to have a triple bypass. She said he's still alive now, drinking and smoking just as much as he ever did."

"That's reassuring."

"Then she told me that she didn't visit him much, because he has a huge fish tank and it really freaks her out. I couldn't stop humming that 'Little Fishies' song for the next hour."

Abby laughed. "How did she take that?"

"I stayed away from her," Dan admitted. "Sat in the office until I stopped humming it. Drove Casey a little mad, but he eventually found something else to do."

"And Isaac?"

"He asked me into his office and said a lot of wise things that made me wonder why I didn't tell him earlier." Dan frowned, remembering that vague feeling of shame. "He also said I could have time off. That when I needed it, to give him a day's notice and he'd organize it. You know, I talk to him every day, but sometimes I forget how much of a good man Isaac is. I don't give him enough credit."

"I think you do," Abby said softly. Then, she asked, "What about Casey?"

"What about him?" Dan stalled, wondering if he could claim someone was at the door. Probably not.

"How did he react to the news?"

"Casey likes being a little different."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that if everyone else reacts well, Casey likes to be," Dan paused, unsuccessfully searching for a better word, "different."

"How, exactly, did he react?"

"In Casey's defense, he had good reason, so it's not--"

"How did he react?"

"Well, it happened on Sunday."

  


* * *

  
"You know what I really like about you, Dan?"

Dan should have heard the warning in Casey's tense tone, or seen the tight expression on his face. Unfortunately, he was in the middle of writing a sentence, so he wasn't paying enough attention to notice either. "What?"

"Your unflinching *honesty*."

Dan blinked, and looked up. Then he saw the warning signs. "What are you talking about?" he asked warily.

"I love the way that, as your best friend, you tell me things. You confide in me," Casey said sarcastically. "So I don't have to rely on office gossip to know what's going on with you."

Dan winced. "You heard?"

Casey smirked. It wasn't a nice expression. "You know who told me?"

"Who?"

"Chris. Who'd heard it from Will, who heard it from Dave, who'd heard it from Kim, who'd heard it from Jeremy, who'd heard it from Natalie." Casey stood back, glaring at Dan. "Is there anyone who didn't know? Apart from me, of course."

"Elliott?" Dan tried hopefully.

"Nope, he knows. Trust me, he filled me in on the details." Casey shook his head in disbelief. Then he tugged at the collar of his sage green shirt. "I can't believe you didn't tell me."

Dan shrugged. "So?"

"So I'm your best friend. This is the stuff you're supposed to tell me," Casey replied. "I shouldn't be the last person in the office to know."

"Feeling a little left out of the loop?" Dan asked bitterly, because it was far easier to be angry than to apologize.

"I *was* left out."

"Poor you," Dan spat back.

Casey clenched his jaw. "Obviously, our friendship isn't as close as I thought it was. Excuse me for thinking that as your best friend, I'd mean anything to you."

"I'm not Lisa, okay?" Dan stood up, too furious to think about what he was saying. "I'm not going to fall apart. I don't need you to hold it together for me, Casey."

"Maybe not this time," Casey muttered and then strode out the door. Dan didn't try to hear what else Casey mumbled under his breath.

  


* * *

  
Dan listened as Abby took a deep breath. "Why didn't Natalie tell him?"

"She thought he already knew."

"And you thought she told him?"

Dan nodded. "Yeah."

"You didn't wonder why he didn't mention it to you?"

"I thought he just, you know, didn't know what to say," Dan lied. "I mean, it's not his fault. He had a valid reason for being annoyed."

"It's not the ideal reaction to finding out that your father's ill," Abby said slowly.

"But it's Casey. I love the guy dearly, but he gets a little blindsided by his own ego." Dan shrugged. "Sometimes he just forgets that there are other people in the room."

"Like you?"

"That didn't come out right," Dan said quickly. "Casey's got a good heart, but he sometimes gets distracted."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Would you consider him family?"

Dan was surprised by the question. "Casey?"

"Yeah."

Frowning, Dan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Sort of."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I think of Charlie as family. So I guess that, by extension, Casey is too. Maybe. But not really."

"Charlie's family?"

"I'm his uncle," Dan explained. "We agreed on that years ago."

  


* * *

  
Dan felt a tug on his jacket sleeve, and looked down to find Charlie smiling up at him. He absently wondered if Charlie would ever grow into his front teeth. Then he felt a little guilty for it.

"Uncle Danny?"

The kid looked serious, so Dan squatted down to talk to him face to face. "Yes, Charles?"

"You're not Mom's brother, are you?"

Dan barked out a surprised laugh. "Definitely not."

"I know you're not Dad's brother."

"What are we talking about?" Dan stalled for time and Charlie continued, blathering on in true McCall fashion.

"We've been doing families at school. We talked about brothers and sisters, and moms and dads, and uncles and aunts. And grandparents, too," Charlie finished with a definite nod. "So if your uncle is either your mom's brother or your dad's brother, how come you're my uncle?"

Dan had to appreciate the logical reasoning of a five year old. "Technically, I'm not."

Charlie frowned, his round, rosy cheeks looking even rounder as he scowled in confusion. "But I call you Uncle Danny."

"Well, yeah, but..." Dan scratched the back of his head, not quite sure how to explain. After all, Casey had been the one to start it. When Dan had queried the sudden inclusion into the McCall family tree, Casey had shrugged and said that 'Uncle Danny' had a certain ring to it. "Your dad said I could be your uncle anyway."

Charlie blinked, thinking carefully. "Don't you have any," he paused, trying to remember the right words, "nephews or nieces of your own?"

"I have two nieces," Dan replied, thinking of David's girls: red, screaming faces and pink, kicking booties. "But I don't get to see them much."

"Why not?"

Dan avoided the truth. "They live in New York. All of my family lives up there."

"Is it very far away?"

"Uh-huh."

"More far away than Grandma's place?" Lisa's mom lived about four hours' drive out of Dallas. It was probably the furthest Charlie regularly traveled.

"Much further away."

"Oh." Charlie was quiet for a moment, probably trying to imagine a place further away than Grandma's. "Do you miss them?"

"I kind of have a family here. I have you, and your dad, and Dana." Dan carefully didn't mention Lisa. "So I don't miss them too much."

"Even though we're not really your family?"

"Even though."

"Huh."

Dan stood up, stretching his legs. "So, Charles, are you still going to call me Uncle Danny?"

"I don't think so," Charlie said carefully.

Dan forced a small grin. "What are you going to call me?"

"Just Danny. Like Dad does," Charlie added with something very close to hero worship. Charlie adored his father. It was obvious every time Casey made a show of listening to him, or played catch with him, or told Charlie (suitably simplified) stories about Lone Star.

And that adoring expression always made Dan melt a little. "Sure. Just like your dad."

"But you'll still be my uncle, right?"

"You know it." Dan gave Charlie's shoulder a quick squeeze. "You can't kick me out of your family that easily."

Charlie beamed. "Good."

  


* * *

  
Abby laughed. "What an adorable kid."

"Isn't he?" Dan asked proudly, sitting down on the bed. It had more bounce than his mattress at home.

"Definitely," Abby agreed. "So what about Casey?"

"He's my best friend."

"Do you think of him as a brother?"

"Abby, I have broth--a brother. Trust me, Casey's nothing like David."

"Is he like Sam?" Abby asked mildly, and Dan wondered if she was building to something or just curious.

"A little. I mean, they're both language nerds and neither of them have ever been anywhere near cool, but not really."

"Okay."

Dan toyed with the bedspread. "Why do you ask?"

"You're very close to him. I was wondering how you saw that relationship."

Dan took a careful breath. "He's my best friend."

"Sure," Abby said, and he could clearly hear the disbelief in her tone. "Did Casey apologize?"

"For Sunday?"

"For Sunday."

"We worked it out."

"How?"

"Um," Dan glanced at the silent door, forgetting for a moment that Abby couldn't see him. "Abby, I've got to go. There's someone at the door."

"Call me back," Abby said firmly.

"I don't know how long this will take."

"Then call me back tonight. Any time after seven."

"On this number?"

"Yeah."

The empty hotel room suddenly seemed cavernous. "Sure."

  


* * *

  
Dan fished his cell phone out of his pocket. He didn't recognize the number but he answered it anyway. "Hello?"

"Hi, Danny," Abby said dryly.

"Oh, hey, Abby." Dan glanced across the kitchen at Sue, who had raised a dark eyebrow at him. "I'm going to take this outside," he said, holding the phone against his shoulder.

Sue's small mouth stretched into a crescent-shaped smile and her plump cheeks dimpled. "Can't let your admirers down?"

"Something like that," Dan called over his shoulder as he pushed the back door open. He sat down, shifting on the cool wooden stairs as he looked at his cell. Grimacing, he raised it to his ear. "Hey, again."

"It's nine o'clock," Abby pointed out.

It was too dark to see the fence: the yard seemed to stretch out forever. "It probably is."

"You didn't call."

"I got caught up talking to Sue. She's still in the kitchen, if you want to check my alibi."

"Does she know who I am?"

"She knows you're a woman talking to me on the phone."

"Does she know I'm your therapist?"

Dan snorted. "Is there a reason she'd need to know?"

"None of your family knows you're seeing me," Abby said without surprise.

"Why prove I'm as screwed up as they always thought?" Dan asked wryly. "My family doesn't have a high opinion of shrinks."

"A lot of people don't."

He felt himself smirk. "Well, they don't know you as well as I do."

"Obviously," Abby replied and Dan managed a laugh. "Can you talk?"

"I'm physically able to speak, yes."

"Can you talk for a while?"

"Yeah."

"You want to tell me more about Sunday?"

Dan stretched his head back, staring at the night sky. A few stars twinkled weakly. "Not particularly."

"But you're going to tell me about making up with Casey, right?"

"Can't this stuff wait until I'm back?"

"Why?" Abby asked so calmly he had an urge to groan.

Instead, Dan drew a deep breath through his nose. "I'm not good on the phone."

"I know."

"So I don't want to talk on the phone."

"Which would be fine," Abby said, "if you didn't need to talk about it. But I think you do."

"So?"

"So I'm your therapist."

"And if you say talk, I talk?" Dan asked sarcastically. "Is that how it usually works with us?"

"I can hope." Abby sighed. "If you don't want to talk to me, I can't force you."

"Good."

"But you must have noticed that you're carefully pushing everyone away. I'd be pretty bad at what I do if I let you push me away too." Abby paused for a moment; Dan didn't know what to say. "And I'm very good at what I do."

Dan drew his legs up against his chest, resting his chin on his knees. "Abby, it's just... complicated."

"It always is."

There was a long moment of silence, only broken by the occasional sound of a car, typical suburban traffic. Then Dan forced himself to speak. "I went over to see Casey."

"When?"

"Monday morning. Before the show." Dan bit his lip, hard. When the sharp bloom of pain dissipated, he said, "I went over to his place."

"What happened?"

"He apologized," Dan replied quickly.

"What else happened?"

"I was an idiot," Dan tried to joke, but his voice fell flat. "He apologized and I screwed it up."

  


* * *

  
"It's seven in the morning," Casey growled as he rattled the locks on his front door. "I tell you, there had better be a life-threatening emergency or you are a dead man, Danny."

Casey opened the door blearily. He had stubble and crazy bed hair, and he was wearing the red plaid pajamas Charlie had bought him last Christmas.

"I know it's early." Dan crossed his arms. "I just needed to say sorry. About not--"

"I was a jerk," Casey said simply. Dan looked up in surprise. "An incredibly *huge* jerk."

Dan stood there in stunned silence. Eventually, he managed, "You know, I had a whole apology speech ready."

"I'm still working on mine," Casey replied with a sleepy grin. "If you come back when I'm awake, I'll have the details ironed out. But the condensed version is I'm sorry and I shouldn't have acted that way. There's no excusing it."

"You didn't know," Dan said hastily. "And I should have told you--"

"That's no excuse." Casey yawned, stretching his hands above his head. The red folds of fabric gathered around his shoulders. "So what are you doing here at this time of morning?"

"I'm apologizing." Dan shrugged. "Or I was going to."

Casey leaned a hand against the open doorway. "How come you're even up?"

"I was walking around Manhattan. Just walking and thinking how I'd feel if the boot had been on the other hand," Dan muttered.

Casey winced at the mixed metaphors. "You'd be angry?"

"Yeah."

"Would you turn around and yell at me for it?"

"No."

"See? I should have asked if you were okay." Casey grinned, as if his point was proved. Then his expression sobered. "Are you okay, Danny?"

Dan closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah."

"Really?" Casey asked gently, and Dan's throat suddenly closed up. All he could do was swallow and nod. "How's your dad?"

"Expecting the results any day now," Dan managed. "Then..." He couldn't say the words. He couldn't physically say the words. Couldn't say 'surgery' and 'medication' because that was a step too close to 'fatal' and 'death'; a step too close to things he couldn't think about, not yet. It must have shown on his face, because Casey took a step forward and simply wrapped his arms around Dan.

Dan grabbed at Casey's shirt and buried his face in plaid flannel, not bothering to hide how much he needed this. Casey's hugs had always had their own type of comfort. They weren't like anyone else's: not gentle like Natalie's, or careful like Isaac's. They were always a little too tight, a little too firm, like Casey had forgotten his own strength but needed to hold on.

Casey's arms were a band around Dan's ribcage, tight enough that Dan had a little trouble breathing. For a moment, it felt like everything was going to be fine. And then it wasn't. Dan couldn't explain it but he needed to be up and gone. He needed to be alone, and as far away from here as he could get. Scrambling out of Casey's embrace, Dan pulled back quickly.

"Danny?"

"I've got to go. I just-- I have to go."

"Danny," Casey repeated slowly, his fingers digging into Dan's shoulders, holding him there. "Stay. Talk. Have a cup of coffee."

Shaking his head, Dan tried to step back but Casey shadowed him into the hallway. "I can't stay, Casey. I can't."

But Casey didn't let go. He kept holding on to Dan's shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dan said, but Casey wasn't convinced. He kept watching Dan with kind brown eyes and this small concerned frown, until Dan couldn't stand it.

There are some moments that are over before they're even noticed, and there are others that last forever. It felt like ice ages came and went as he leaned closer to Casey, as Casey's eyes widened in surprise, as Casey started to say something that Dan muffled with a kiss.

  


* * *

  
"You kissed him?" Abby asked. She sounded a little shocked. It was nice to know that some things could surprise her. "You kissed *Casey*?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"What happened?"

Dan looked over his shoulder, making sure the door behind him was closed. He didn't want anyone sitting in his parents' kitchen and hearing this. "You know, that whole cliché of kissing a straight guy, and his first reaction is to give you a black eye? It's not such a cliché. Trust me."

"He hit you?"

"No. I'm just saying he could have hit me. But he didn't."

"Why?"

"Why didn't he hit me? Because Casey isn't that sort of guy. He'd rather exchange witty barbs than punches," Dan explained. "Besides, boxing really isn't his forte."

"Why did you kiss him?"

"I just did, Abby. There wasn't a why."

"Do you normally go around kissing random guys?" She didn't stress any particularly word but he knew it was the 'random' raising her curiosity, not the 'guys'. Abby already knew about the guys.

"No."

"But you kissed Casey?"

Dan rolled his eyes. "It was a moment of insanity. That's the only possible explanation."

"It's not the only explanation," Abby said firmly.

Dan shrugged. "Another one is that I'm an idiot."

Abby was silent for a long moment, and Dan had the sudden mental image of her scribbling down notes. It was unnerving. It was probably also true. Eventually, she asked, "What did Casey do?"

"What?"

"Did he kiss you back?"

Dan snorted. "No."

"What did he do?"

"He pushed me away."

"Did he say anything?"

Dan shook his head, belatedly remembering he was on the phone. "No."

"He stood there in silence?" Abby asked doubtfully.

"He stood there," Dan said, shifting on the hard wooden stairs, "and I made my exit as quickly as I could."

"You just left? Without saying anything?"

"What's there to say?" Dan asked harshly, remembering the muffled thuds of his feet hitting the carpet and the intolerably long elevator ride from Casey's floor. "Sorry for that moment of insanity? That despite that display of stupidity, I really am fine?"

"I don't think you are."

"And that's your professional opinion?"

Abby sighed deeply. "It's not something we're going to solve tonight, Dan. And you haven't told me what happened to your father."

The breeze wasn't cold, but Dan still shivered. "He's going in for bypass surgery tomorrow afternoon. I took the week off, and the family's gathered round."

"Did you tell Casey?"

"I told Isaac and Natalie."

"But you didn't tell Casey?"

Dan huddled further into his jacket. "I haven't spoken to him."

"Since you kissed him and ran away?"

"You make me sound like Georgie Porgie," Dan said, thinking of childhood nursery rhymes.

"If the shoe fits."

"It's not--" Dan huffed out a sigh. "He's busy doing the show, and I'm trying to deal with my family without tearing my hair out by the roots. The rest of it can wait until I get back to New York."

"Could you give me a call tomorrow? Let me know what happens with your father?"

"Sure."

"And this time, could you actually call me?" Abby asked pointedly.

"Yes, I'll call you," Dan promised. "Night, Abby."

  


* * *

  
Dan gritted his teeth against the casual chatter of the hospital staff. Three of them were standing at the nurses' station, discussing someone's new house. All Dan could think was that in another room, down another grey carpeted hallway, his father was lying on an operating table and these people were talking about kitchen tiles.

Dan slid his cell phone out of his pocket, idly pressing keys as he toyed with the idea of calling Casey. He decided against it and brought up Abby's number instead. "Hey, Abby."

"Dan?" she asked through the slight hiss of static.

"Yeah."

"This reception isn't great."

"I'm sitting in a hospital and I probably shouldn't be on the phone. I'm not going to complain about the reception." A nurse in a blue uniform walked by and Dan sunk down in his chair, covering the phone with his hand.

"They'd have signs posted if you couldn't use it."

"I don't see any."

"Then you're probably fine," Abby said. "How are things?"

"Dad's in surgery. Mom and Sue are in the gift shop. I think they're searching for that perfect post-bypass Hallmark card." Dan kept his voice light, but Abby didn't laugh. "Or maybe one of those teddy bears that says 'I love you with all my heart'."

"How long did it take you to come up with that?" Abby asked knowingly.

"A while. I've had some time on my hands."

"Where's David?"

"He went home." Dan stretched back in the plastic chair. "He's not a big fan of hospital waiting rooms."

"Why not?"

"When I was leaving for college, he'd already graduated and moved back home."

"Meaning?"

"He was here the night that Sam--" Dan stood up and started walking outside, cell phone held tight in his hand. He was sick of the fake-lemon smell of disinfectant. "Sam didn't die on impact. It was touch and go for a few hours."

"Ah."

"I missed it," Dan said, trying to blink away the memories. "By the time I got there, Sam was already gone."

"They told you about waiting for Sam?" Abby asked carefully.

"David told me."

"Why David?"

Dan's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "He was the only who'd talk to me."

"Really?"

"It was, like, six a.m. when I got there," Dan explained. "Mom and Susie were crying, sitting on the living room couch and sobbing. I can still remember the horrible noise Mom was making... This moaning sound that she just couldn't stop."

"And your father?"

"He was upstairs, in Sam's room. Sam used to have this shelf of awards, certificates, stuff like that. Dad was wandering back and forth, reading over everything on that shelf. Picking things up and putting them back like he'd never seen them before." In the back of his mind, Dan still had a clear picture of that moment: pushing open the door and watching his dad -- *his* dad, a guy who didn't give in, didn't back down for anything -- stare around the room, completely lost. It had been more shattering than Sue's strangled voice on the other side of the phone, telling him Sam was in hospital.

"Sounds like he was in shock," Abby said. "It's a pretty common reaction."

"Yeah, well. Mom was crying and Dad was cataloguing Sam's stuff, and I ended up standing on the back steps, feeling like I wasn't there at all."

  


* * *

  
The wind was cold and biting, raising goosebumps along Dan's arms. He had a sweater inside the house, but he'd rather freeze than have to go back inside. The last ten hours felt like a dream, like a horrible nightmare, and Dan really wanted to wake up.

The back door opened behind him, and David came out, holding a shadow-grey sweatshirt. David had inherited Dad's stocky build and soft jowl. He'd also inherited Dad's practical nature and square, capable hands.

"Here." David shoved the shirt at Dan.

"Thanks." Dan pulled it on quickly. "Is it my imagination, or is no one talking to me?"

"I'm talking to you," David said curtly.

"Yeah." Dan wasn't cold, but he still wrapped his arms around his ribcage. "But you're the only one."

David sighed impatiently and Dan didn't feel like a young adult any more. This morning, he'd felt so grown up, finally moving out of home, becoming a college freshman. Now, he felt like a little kid. An annoying little kid no-one wanted to be around. "I don't get it."

"Don't get what?" David demanded, leaning back against the side of the house, one hand flat against the muddy-red bricks.

"All of it. I don't get it," Dan said. "Susie explained it on the phone, and I know what happened, but I don't get... I don't get *how* it happened. How it could possibly have *happened*. To Sam."

David squinted into the early dawn light, scowling at the pale pink clouds. "That's pretty obvious."

"What do you mean?"

"Mom's told you, Dad's told you. We've all warned you." David refused to look at him. "When Dad said your indulgences were dangerous, he didn't mean only to you."

"What?" Dan spluttered. "But I didn't-- I never thought--"

"Of course you didn't. None of us did." David shook his head slightly. "If we'd known, you can bet Dad would have been a hell of a lot stricter on you."

Dan hunched his shoulders up, thinking about every time Sam had asked him for advice, had asked him about dating and friends and being cool. Every time Sam had wanted to be just like him. "I didn't mean for Sammy to get hurt."

"I know. But while you're standing here and brooding over why no-one will explain it to you, you've got to understand that we spent three hours sitting in hospital corridors, waiting to find out if Sam would live or die. Knowing that even if he lived, there was a good chance he'd be nothing more than a vegetable attached to medical equipment." David's tone was harsh and angry, but it didn't compare to the cold rage in his eyes. "You had your fun. You partied with your friends and Sam stepped straight into your footsteps. And now he's dead."

"God, David, you know I didn't--" His voice cracked on the last word.

"I *know*. But I'm saying there's a reason why no one knows what to say to you, Danny," David said as he pushed himself away from the wall and walked back inside. The door swung shut, but Dan could still hear the sound of weeping.

  


* * *

  
"It sounds worse than it was."

"What makes it sound better?" Abby asked doubtfully.

"He didn't mean it. The next time I saw him, he apologized for even saying it," Dan assured her. "He'd been up all night. Twenty-four hours straight. After that, he slept for a few hours and when he woke up, he apologized."

"You believed him?"

"I knew he was sorry, Abby. David and I've never been close, but he didn't mean it."

"So you believed his apology," Abby said slowly and Dan suddenly realized he was too tired for this conversation. "But did you believe him when he said that you were responsible?"

"He didn't mean it." He wasn't sure how convincing his rationalizations sounded.

"I know he didn't mean it, but did you believe it?"

Dan carefully stayed quiet. He walked down another corridor and realized he'd lost his way to the exit. Looking around, he tried to retrace his steps.

"I'm asking the wrong question, aren't I?"

"Is that rhetorical?"

"I should be asking if you still believe it," Abby continued, "shouldn't I?"

"It's not--" Dan started, striding down another corridor. "I know he didn't mean it. I know it wasn't true."

"But you believed it was true, didn't you?"

"Is this really the best time to discuss this?" Dan demanded, stopping in the middle of the hallway. "As we speak, some guy is cutting my father open and levering apart his ribcage. I'm pretty sure this isn't what we need to be talking about."

"It isn't."

Dan blinked, sure that was too easy. "It isn't?"

Abby sighed. "Have you noticed the only time you talk about something personal is when you're trying to avoid talking about something else?"

"What?"

"And considering how painful that memory must be, I can only assume that whatever you don't want to talk about, you *really* don't want to talk about it."

"What are you talking about?"

"And I'm wondering if it's your father that you don't want to talk about--"

"Considering there is a chance that he could die on that operating table, I don't know why I wouldn't want to talk about it," Dan said sarcastically. "It makes absolutely no sense that I'd want to think about something other than the possibility of my father as a corpse."

"As I was saying," Abby said, not at all ruffled, "I'm wondering if it's your father you don't want to talk about, or if it's Casey. And your last comment makes it pretty clear it's Casey."

"Abby, I have to go," Dan said, trying to swallow down the nameless panic.

"I thought you would."

"I'm hanging up now," Dan said, fumbling at his cell.

"I'll keep in touch, Dan."

  


* * *

  
When Abby called him back that night, Dan looked at the cell phone but didn't answer. Casey shot him a curious look and asked, "Who was that?"

Dan shook his head and turned his attention back to the hospital bed. "Unknown number," he lied.

  


* * *

  
"Is it my imagination," Dan said as he stepped out of the bathroom waving a white, rectangular packet, "or do hotels always put their soaps in hard-to-open wrappers?"

Casey was standing in the middle of the room, wearing a dark green sweater that fitted the almost-Christmas color scheme of the hotel room. He was on his cell, saying, "Wait a minute, I'll just get him," then he walked over to Dan and pointed at the phone in his hand. "It's Abby. For you."

"She called you?"

"She called you," Casey replied, handing Dan his own phone. "I thought it might be your mom."

"Sure." Dan stared at the phone grudgingly.

Casey took it as a sign to make himself scarce. "Look, I'm going to go for a coffee run. Pick up today's newspapers. Be back in about half an hour?"

Dan swallowed. "Thanks."

"Do you want a muffin, too?"

"Yeah." Dan waited until Casey shut the door behind him before raising the phone to his ear. "Hey."

"You're with Casey?"

"Yeah, Abby, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Dan replied sarcastically. "And Dad's doing okay, too."

"What happened?"

Dan settled back on the bed. "The surgery seemed to go fine but there were complications afterwards. His heart rate wouldn't stabilize and he had a fever, and he spent most of the time slipping in and out of consciousness. Then the hospital gave us a call this morning to say that the fever's gone down and he's in a stable condition. It's kind of an anti-climax, not that I'm complaining."

"He's going to be okay?"

"A few days observation and he'll be back at home. I couldn't bear another day of standing around, listening to machines beep. Nearly drove me insane yesterday."

"I'm glad he's okay."

"I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been. I just kept staring at him, imagining him in a coffin somewhere," and trying to forget the lanky limbs of a fifteen year old lying still on satin, knobbley knees and pointed elbows hidden inside a formal, black suit, but Dan didn't say that. "Thinking about all the things I never said to him. All the things I never took the time to say."

"Like what?"

"Like..." Dan trailed off, staring at Casey's tie draped over the back of the chair. "I never thanked him for teaching me how to tie a bowtie. That every time I see Casey getting someone else to fix it for him, I remember Dad helping me before the Senior Prom, telling me that a guy with class always knows how to tie his own tie."

Abby didn't say anything, so Dan continued. "I never said thank you for Little League. That I never would have become who I am, I never would have worked in sports, if not for that. And I never..."

"What?" Abby asked gently.

"I never said sorry. For Sam. For being a monumental pain in the ass. For acting like the entire world revolved around me, for never stopping to think about how hard it must have been for Dad, running the store and all." Dan's words came out in a rush, but he didn't try to slow them down. "I never saw it from his point of view, I never thought about it."

"But you are now?"

"I've been talking to Mom. Reminiscing. Thinking about things I'd totally forgotten."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dan took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "You know, when I was fifteen what I wanted more than anything in the world was a car. My own car. God, I never shut up about it. I spent about three months working as much as I could. I'd help Dad after school and on the weekends, and all I wanted was to buy my own car."

"And?"

"I saved and I saved, and I never got anywhere near buying my own car," Dan admitted with a wry chuckle. "Nowhere near it. I'd look in the newspapers and I'd stick ads up on the back of my door, to remind me of what I wanted, and I never got anywhere near it. Then Dad pulled me aside one afternoon and asked how much I'd saved."

  


* * *

  
Dan ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. Mom kept saying it was too long. "About seven hundred."

His dad nodded slowly. "I know you've got your heart set on something new, but a car's a car, right?"

"What are you talking about, Dad?"

"A customer was in here today. He mentioned he was selling his daughter's car."

Dan frowned, thinking about his bank balance. Anything halfway decent would be way out of his price range. "How much?"

"He wants seven hundred and fifty." His dad smiled, looking pretty pleased with himself. "I'm thinking I could give you an advance on next weekend's pay."

"It's a total bomb, isn't it?"

"It's in good condition." His father's smile faded. "And, more importantly, it's a car you can afford, Danny."

"Have you seen it?" Dan asked doubtfully. "It's probably rusted through."

"Give the guy a call. Tell him you're my son," his dad said, shoving a business card at Dan. "Check it out for yourself and see if it meets your high standards."

  


* * *

  
"I wasn't particularly gracious about it," Dan said quietly.

"Was it a good car?"

"It was great. I still had it after college."

"For only seven-fifty?" Abby asked disbelievingly.

"The full price was two thousand."

"I thought you said seven fifty?"

"I did." Dan shifted on the bed, sitting cross-legged. He traced the floral design on the bedspread, twisting his finger around the curve of a green leaf. "Dad made a private arrangement with the guy, and offered to pay him the other twelve fifty, if I wanted it."

"Do you know why?"

"Mom said he was proud. He was proud of me for getting my act together. My grades were still mediocre, but I wanted something and I put the effort into getting it." Dan paused, remembering how thrilled he'd been with his first car, how much he'd loved it; how he'd gone back to only working a day a week as soon as he bought it. "I never knew."

"That he was proud, or that he paid for it?"

"Both. I spent so many years thinking he was a total hardass, thinking that he didn't understand and he didn't care."

"But he did."

Dan nodded, shifting the phone in his hand. "The lousy thing is that he was so wrong."

"About you getting your act together?"

"Yeah. Once I had the car, I saw my friends even more often. I spent more time partying than studying." Dan scratched the back of his neck and wondered how long he had before Casey came back. "There were nights when I'd get so high I didn't want to do anything. I'd just sit around watching TV and wait until I came down enough to drive home."

"How did your parents react?"

"They'd ground me, but I didn't care. I'd still go to school and drive over to my friends' places... I missed curfew so often that Dad ended up not setting one for me any more. He said there was no point waiting up for me, since I obviously had no respect for anyone."

"Did you respect your father?" Abby asked carefully.

Dan shrugged. "I don't know. I spent so much time resenting him... I don't know."

"When are you coming back to New York?"

"I have to be back for Monday night's show," Dan said, a little confused. "Why?"

"You've still got half a week down there. Maybe you should think about saying some of those things to your dad."

"Maybe not."

"Why not?"

"He'd laugh at me for it. I'm telling you now, Abby, my dad isn't a big fan of guys showing emotions. He wouldn't appreciate it."

"Maybe he would."

"He'd think I was a schmuck," Dan said dismissively.

"I don't think so."

"You don't know my dad."

"No. But if you never talk to him," Abby replied firmly, "if you never tell him this stuff, you won't know him either."

"I know him well enough."

"Just think about it, Dan."

Dan sighed and admitted defeat. "I'll think about it." He glanced at the clock. Casey would be back in a few minutes. "So is that all?"

"You still haven't told me why Casey's there."

Dan fought the urge to sigh again. "He came down yesterday."

"You two are talking again?"

"Why do you ask questions when you already know the answer?"

"I'm trying to encourage you to talk about it."

"It doesn't seem to be working."

"How did he get there?"

"Didn't ask. Don't care." Dan felt his mouth tighten into a frown. It was a regular pattern: when he didn't want to think about something, Abby always wanted to know the details.

"Dan," Abby said reprovingly.

"He came down yesterday afternoon, okay? I'd already spent a couple of hours standing around Dad's bedside, so I really didn't ask how he got there."

"What happened?"

"He just showed up. I was standing there, and he walks through the door, smiling at me."

  


* * *

  
"Hey, Danny," Casey said, walking into the room. He had one hand in the pocket of his dark blue jeans, and his brown leather jacket draped over one arm. With his dark green sweater -- last year's birthday gift from his mom -- Case was bold blocks of color against the flat, white wall.

Dan stood there in shock for a second, wondering if he was seeing things. "Hey."

Casey shot him a relieved grin. "I'm glad I finally found the right room. This place is a maze."

"About Monday morning," Dan blurted out quickly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me."

Casey shook his head and rested an arm on Dan's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. It's not important right now." Leaning closer, Casey added, "Are you going to be okay? You look like you haven't seen sunlight in a while."

Dan's grin felt rusty, and his laugh wavered. "I've, um, been here for a while. Dad came in first thing this morning. I've been here ever since."

Casey raised an eyebrow at him, and did a good impersonation of a mother hen. "But you've been eating?"

Dan shot a guilty look over to the waste basket, to the plastic cups and shiny wrappers lying inside. "Well, the three C's."

"Coffee, candy and coke?" Casey knew him well. A little too well.

"Yeah."

Casey grimaced. "Danny, you're not a college kid. You can't survive on that stuff. You need a decent meal."

Dan looked over at the bed, at the pale skin and blinking equipment. "I'm not leaving, Casey. I can't. I... I just can't."

"You are," Casey replied firmly. "You are leaving this room, and eating something hot and filling. You will be gone for at least thirty minutes." Then Casey's tone softened. "If you want, I'll stay here. I can give you a call if anything changes."

"No." Dan shook his head vehemently.

Casey led him out the door with a hand against his back, and Dan was grateful for the quiet.

  


* * *

  
"That was it? He forgave you just like that?" Abby sounded doubtful. "You didn't talk about it?"

"For Monday morning? Yeah." Dan shrugged. "I mean, I haven't brought it up since, and Casey seems fine about it."

"Hmm."

Dan shifted on the bed, as if he could physically avoid the topic. Then he noticed the hotel room door start to open. "Wait a minute." Dan looked over as Casey stuck his head around the door. "Hey, Casey."

"Hey," Casey said, newspapers and breakfast in hand. He saw that Dan was still on the phone and pulled a face. "I'm going to read these down in the lobby. You want to meet me down there when you're done?"

Dan nodded and Casey closed the door again, taking the muffins and coffees with him. There was something to be said for a person who, unlike Abby, knew not to pry. "Where were we?" he asked Abby.

"You were telling me about Casey coming down."

"Oh, yeah. Anyway, I followed him out. I thought he was taking me to the hospital cafeteria, but it turned out he'd got lost."

  


* * *

  
"I was sure it was here," Casey muttered as they walked into the wide room. The hospital cafeteria was fairly desolate. There was nothing heart-warming about the cheap plastic tables or the hard chairs. Dan felt like he'd already spent too long sitting there.

But Casey didn't stop walking. He turned around and steered Dan through corridors, stopping at the elevators. "I think you missed the turn," Dan said, but the joke fell flat. "The cafeteria's behind us."

"You hate eating in the CSC cafeteria," Casey replied. Dan didn't point out that it was probably the QVN cafeteria now. He hadn't been down there in a while, but he was fairly sure it would have changed hands as well. "I don't need to hear your complaints against hospital food, too. Besides, a bit of sunshine could do you good."

"Yeah, all I need is a little ray of sunshine and I'll be right as rain."

Casey looked at him, one of those careful glances that meant he was worried, that meant that he wished he could make Dan stop aching. It was ridiculously comforting. "Can't hurt."

"Unless I get sunburn." Dan smirked, and pressed for the elevator.

"There is that." Casey grinned at him as they got on. Pressing the ground button, Casey added, "Do you think sunburn's likely? In the middle of fall? At ten to five?"

The elevator moved in a sickening lurch downwards. It made Dan feel slightly ill. "It's possible."

"But is it likely?"

"Probably not," Dan admitted as they got out. He followed Casey outside, perfectly willing to let Casey lead him. "Where are we headed?"

"I'm sure I saw an Italian place on the corner." Casey shrugged. "Or maybe French. But it looked nice."

"Okay," Dan said slowly.

The place turned out to be Italian. And it did look nice, with red cotton tablecloths and candles sitting in wicker-covered wine bottles. As they sat down, Dan did the familiar patting of the pockets, trying to find his wallet. His pockets were empty. "Casey, I have no idea where my wallet is." He sounded a little panicked.

Casey just handed him a menu. "It's not a problem."

Dan tapped his fingers against the laminated menu, trying to remember where he could have left it. In the hotel, maybe. Or back in the hospital. He must have had it there. He could remember getting change for the candy machine. "I really don't--"

Casey interrupted him, "It's not a problem. Now order something."

Dan nodded and looked at the menu. He didn't feel at all hungry. "Get me whatever you're getting."

"Do you want a drink?"

"Do I look like I need one?"

"Actually," Casey said, placing the menu down on the table, "you do."

"I don't." That stopped the conversation. Dan toyed with his napkin, unfolding it and refolding it as Casey got the waiter's attention and ordered. Their menus got bundled away and Dan was left staring at the bright red tablecloth, wondering if he'd see the same scarlet if he closed his eyes.

"What happened?"

He felt his shoulders hunch against Casey's question. "What?"

"To your father," Casey explained.

"I thought Natalie...?"

"She told me he had surgery scheduled today. Then I called your mom, and she told me where to find you." Casey kept his voice slow and gentle. "What's going on with him?"

Dan shrugged. "You'd have to ask someone with medical training."

"Give me the layman's version," Casey replied, resting his forearms on the table. "Pretend I am a very simple man."

"You are a very simple man." The banter felt rusty, but Casey still grinned.

"Then you shouldn't have a problem."

Dan crossed his arms in front of him, bending over them as if it made it easier to say this stuff. "It started about three months ago. Dad's angina started playing up, and the chest pains got--" He looked up to see Casey trying not smirk. "What?"

"I think I misheard you," Casey said, close to sniggers, "your dad has *angina*?"

"He has mild angina, Casey. Laugh it up." Casey's lips started twitching, and Dan found himself starting to smile. "He's had it for years. Amused the hell out of me in junior high."

"I can see why." Casey took a long swallow of water and almost wiped the grin off his face. "So, it started playing up?"

"The chest pains got worse, and Dad being Dad, he didn't mention it to anyone. He just did the tough guy act. I mean, heaven forbid he could have seen the doctor. Got this checked before it flared up," Dan paused and took a deep breath, waiting for the anger to fade.

"So they could have prevented it?"

"Probably. Upped the anti-clotting medication, or something. It would have made a big difference."

"So what happened?"

Dan shrugged. "He had a heart attack."

"Danny?"

"It was just him and Mom in the house, and he doubled over, blaming it on the angina. Then he collapsed. Mom freaked and called the hospital." Dan sucked in a deep breath through his nose, trying not to imagine the scene. He'd already had his mom tell it to him too many times. "Apparently, it was touch and go for a while. Then they did whatever they do, shot him full of painkiller and some clot-busting medication, and kept him in for observation."

"Clot-busting?" Casey wondered aloud.

Dan almost grinned. "The doctors told me about it in detail, but I just keep imagining it as the Arnold Schwarzenegger of medicines, going through Dad's veins with guns firing, shooting the blood clots to smithereens."

Casey laughed. "It's better than him trying to run for Congress."

"I thought so."

"So when did this happen? And when did you find out about it?"

"Mom called everyone from the hospital, let everyone know. It happened about three weeks ago."

Casey didn't say Dan should have told him. He didn't ask why. He just said, "What's happened since then?"

"Tests, scans. Poking and prodding him until he swore, probably. They found out that he hadn't been suffering from severe angina pains. He'd been having minor heart attacks. Technically, minor 'myocardial infarctions'," Dan repeated carefully, "which were his body's way of warning him."

"Okay."

"Then there were more tests, and finding out just how damaged his arteries were, and the doctors suggesting bypass surgery. Which, technically, he should be recovering from now, except his heart rate's erratic and way above normal, and if it doesn't level out over the next day or so--" Looking down, Dan noticed that the white napkin was twisted tightly around his knuckles. He dropped it. "He may need to go back into surgery for a pacemaker."

Casey nodded. Then the pasta came, and Dan was happy to spend the rest of the meal in silence.

  


* * *

  
"So you told him about your dad?"

"Yeah," Dan replied.

"But you didn't talk about Monday morning?"

"No."

"You didn't talk about it later?"

"No."

"Really?"

Dan rolled his eyes, even though she couldn't see him. "What part of no don't you understand, Abby?"

"The part that sounds really unbelievable," Abby replied.

"Whatever," Dan said, standing up. "I'm meeting the family at the hospital so I have to go now."

"Do you want to give me a call tomorrow?"

He lied through his teeth. "Sure."

"And do you want to tell me what Casey really said about Monday morning?"

"Goodbye, Abby."

  


* * *

  
Dan sighed and looked around his old room. Without the posters and the newspaper clippings covering the walls, it barely seemed like the same room. At the moment, Susie's kids were staying in it, so the floor was covered with toys and brightly colored children's clothes. He picked his way through the mess.

The telephone was sitting on the bedside table, just where he'd always had it. He stared at it for a moment and then shook his head at his own hesitance. There was no reason for it. The phone didn't bite him when he picked it up and it really wasn't that hard to dial Abby's number, but he still had an urge to hang up before she answered.

He tapped his foot, waiting for the soulless ringing to stop. As soon as it did, he spoke. "Hey, Abby."

"Dan," she replied warmly. "I didn't recognize the number."

"I'm calling from home. I mean, my parents' place," he amended quickly.

"Is your father home yet?"

"Yeah." Dan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Makes everything a bit hectic. Between Susie and her three kids, and David's lot coming round to visit, it's a bit overrun. I feel a little superfluous."

"Why?"

Dan shrugged and tried to tune out the noise of excited cousins playing downstairs. "Just, you know. Last thing this house needs is another visitor."

"But your dad's fine?"

"He'll be recovering for at least a month, so David's running the stores. But it's not life-threatening any more." There was a sudden squeal of girlish laughter and Dan briefly wondered how his father could sleep through it. Having heavy painkillers probably helped. "I miss New York."

"Yeah?"

Dan nodded. "It's a great city, Abby. I don't see how people don't love it."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why do you love New York?" Abby paused for a moment. "What makes New York so wonderful for you?"

"Abby, Abby, Abby. New York isn't just wonderful for me, its wonderful for everyone. It's a city that's alive, that's always moving. It has culture and Broadway and symphonies. It has shops where you can buy sneakers at three in the morning and Chinese takeout at six." Dan smiled, thinking about riding the ferry and walking down skyscraper-lined streets. "It isn't a city you live in, it's a city you should fall in love with."

"And when did your love affair with this city begin?"

"I've always loved New York," Dan replied easily. "As a kid, I loved the busyness of it. The way people were always going somewhere and traffic never really stops. The way that amongst all that concrete and all those buildings, there were gardens and parks. I loved riding the subway. I used to think you could spend all day traveling and never leave New York."

Abby laughed. "You know you can, right?"

"As a kid? New York was magical."

"You didn't like leaving it?"

"It's not..." Dan scrunched his face up, trying to put words to the vague... lack of love he had for Connecticut. "When we moved, it was just... different. I was used to apartments and tall buildings and crowds. Then we moved and it was a house in the suburbs, with a large backyard and my own room. But there were no crowds. The town was empty at six o'clock on a Sunday evening. Mom kept saying that it was a better place to raise a family, but it was empty. Everywhere you looked, there was open space with nothing to fill it."

"You're not much of a fan of nature, are you?"

Dan snorted. "I appreciate seeing nature as I walk by it, preferably as I walk by on a concrete sidewalk going to a building that's more than four stories high."

"And what about the rest of the family?" Abby asked, sounding genuinely curious. "How did they take the move?"

"Mom and Dad loved it. We moved, Dad bought the store and the pair of them spent the first few years working long hours. Susie never lived there, she was already at college." Dan counted off family members on his fingers. "David was there for less than a year and then he was out at college. Sam came to a new school, and jumped a class, and suddenly he was popular."

"He hadn't been popular at his last school?"

"He had a few friends, but..." Dan paused, trying to think of the real differences. He nudged a vivid blue toy car with his foot and it rolled a few begrudging inches across the carpet. "He used to hang out with me and my friends most of the time. He was two years younger but he was smarter than any of us. Then we moved, and Sam made his own group of friends. It was weird."

"Did you make friends easily?"

"I was, like, thirteen," Dan pointed out. "Everyone makes friends easily at that age."

"When you moved, did you find it easy to make friends?"

"I was a kid going to school. Friends are kind of automatic."

"Did you have a lot of friends in New York?"

"I had a handful of close friends." Dan found himself staring at the single bed and wondering what had happened to the bunk beds they had in New York. Then he remembered. They were put in Sam's room when they moved. They probably still had the stickers he and Sam had plastered on it as small kids. "Sam and I used to go over to their places after school and sometimes stay for dinner. It wasn't like I had a rolodex of friends but you don't need that many friends as a kid."

"But you didn't make friends in Connecticut?"

Dan sighed. "Not really."

"Why not?"

"My elementary school was bigger than my junior high and high school combined. There were just fewer kids to get on with."

"And what was the real reason?"

"I didn't fit in," Dan said softly, remembering how much time he'd spent alone during those first two years. "I missed New York. I missed the hectic crowds and all the different people crammed into a small space. When we moved, the schools were full of these small-minded, small-town kids. Kids who'd had friendship groups since they were five, who loved their town and thought I was strange because I didn't." Sometime during that tirade, Dan's tone had become harsh and bitter, which was fairly ridiculous considering he was just talking about junior high school.

"But you stayed there until college, right?"

"About six years, give or take."

"And you didn't make friends?"

"Not in those first two years. Sam was always off playing with his own friends and I was the one who didn't fit in." Talking about it made Dan aware of how much he'd hated junior high. "Then I was at high school, so for a year, Sam and I were going to different schools anyway. I made some friends that year, but..."

"But?"

"But they weren't the *right* type of kids, as my mother would say." Dan shifted the phone handset to his other hand. "At the time, I didn't care. They were kids who felt the same way I did, who didn't buy into the whole school spirit thing, who thought that we were stuck in a boring, soulless town. They were also kids who got away from it with drinking and lighting up. And as we got older, it became more frequent."

Abby was quiet for a long moment. Dan had the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence. He didn't want to talk about what happened next; Abby already knew the story. "Is there a reason we're talking about this?" he asked.

"I could say it's because this is the root of a lot of your problems," Abby said gently.

"But you're really lulling me into a false sense of security?"

"I'm really waiting for you to tell me what happened with Casey."

"Nothing happened," Dan replied, a little too quickly.

"He came down. He talked to you. He stayed overnight," Abby recited. "Those are all things that happened. Now tell me about them."

"I already did."

"You told me about him coming down. You told me about going out to lunch." Abby paused and Dan wondered where she was leading this. "What happened for dinner?"

"We had pizza."

"Feel free to tell me in a little more detail."

"Fine. We got kicked out of the hospital around nine. Apparently visiting hours were over." Dan leaned his back against the wall. "They promised to call us when Dad's status changed and Casey herded me out."

"Okay."

"We went back to that Italian place and had pizza. I don't even know what we talked about."

"Really?" Abby asked sharply.

"Yeah. We could have been talking about the baseball playoffs or the best way to make scrambled eggs. I have no idea. I just remember being glad to sit there and eat and talk about something normal." Dan smirked and added, "Or as normal as Casey and I get."

"So Casey stayed overnight?"

"Yeah. He got a room at the hotel."

"And you stayed...?"

"At the same hotel."

"In your room?"

The hair on the back of Dan's neck bristled. "What precisely are you trying to trap me into saying?"

"I'm not trying to trap you, Dan."

"It feels like a conversational ambush," Dan shot back, trying not to think about things better left forgotten.

"It's not," Abby said calmly. "It's me trying to get you to talk about whatever you're trying to avoid."

"And what do you think that is?" Dan demanded, carefully not thinking about the feel of Casey's lips against his. Carefully not thinking about Casey's arms wrapped around him or burying his head against Casey's shoulder.

"Honestly?"

"No, lie to me," Dan replied sarcastically.

"I think you either talked to Casey about the kiss--"

"Trust me, Casey isn't the kind of guy to talk about it," Dan interrupted but Abby kept speaking.

"--or you kissed him again."

If Dan hadn't been holding the phone, he would have crossed his arms. Instead, he settled for wrapping one around his chest. "Why would you even think that?" he asked carefully. From a clear patch of carpet, the toy car stood alone, mocking Dan's attempt to move it. He kicked it hard. It clattered against the wall and landed upside-down.

"Because you're not telling me anything, Dan. And if you can't tell me what you're hiding, I have to make my own assumptions."

Dan absorbed that for a few moments. "We talked," he admitted.

"Tell me."

"There was a repeat of the Sox game, so we hung around my room to watch it." Dan dug his fingers into the material of his sweatshirt. "You know what hotel chairs are like. They're always over-stuffed and look great but are horrible to sit on. So we sat on the bed."

  


* * *

  
"I can't believe they're going to lose," Casey said, pushing pillows behind him so he could sit comfortably against the headboard. Dan had already got himself comfortable, and wasn't going to offer any of the pillows he'd commandeered. They'd pulled the bedspread off -- because Casey claimed it was too 'scratchy' -- and now two pairs of legs stretched out across the cream blanket, Dan's white-socked feet almost touching Casey's black socks. "They should win."

"You've already seen the game," Dan replied. "You know they lose."

"But I'm saying they shouldn't. They should have won."

"Because you say so?"

Casey grinned. "Because I had money riding on this game."

Dan snorted. "And now you owe Dana money?"

"Dana, Isaac and Jeremy," Casey admitted with a grimace.

"You bet against Jeremy?"

Casey dropped his head, nodding shamefacedly. "I didn't realize he was betting. He didn't bet until ten minutes before the game started, and I couldn't back down then."

"Of course not." Dan watched the bright green and white of the screen, but to be honest, he'd barely been following it. "Your manly pride demanded that you stand your ground."

"That's what I'm saying."

"So instead, you spent the entire game waiting for them to lose."

"They should have won," Casey said. They were quiet through the next few innings, trading a few sarcastic remarks about the Sox's batters. By the time the sixth inning came around, Dan was starting to fidget.

Casey raised one eloquent eyebrow at him. "Are you on Ritalin?"

"I probably should be." Dan crossed his arms and tried to stay still. It would have been easier if Casey could just stop looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Casey asked softly, and Dan knew it wasn't meant in the 'you're being annoying, could you please be still' way. Casey was honestly concerned.

"Things are... weird." Dan uncrossed his arms and laid his hands in his lap. "But I'm okay. Just a little dazed."

Casey nodded as if those half-sentences made sense. "Okay. But you know..."

"What?"

"I'm here if you need me."

"I don't," Dan said, and it sounded so incredibly fake he nearly expected Casey to laugh at him. But Casey just watched him quietly. "I'm okay."

"I know," Casey replied, meaning 'I know you're not but I'm here anyway'. Casey knew the art of making unsaid things easily understood.

Dan turned away, needing some emotional distance. "I really am sorry about Monday."

"Danny? Don't worry about it."

"That's kind of hard to do." Dan grimaced. "Or not do, as the case may be."

"It's a matter of priorities." Casey sat up and placed a hand on Dan's leg, next to Dan's tense, interwoven fingers. "A bit of... strangeness between friends is nothing compared to the thought of losing your dad. It isn't important."

"It is," Dan said but couldn't explain the sudden fear of losing both Casey and his Dad. He gripped Casey's hand tightly. Casey's skin was warm and dry, and the bumps of knuckles pressed into Dan's palm.

"What do you want, Danny?"

"Forgiveness, I think."

When he looked up, Casey was watching him with soft, concerned eyes. "Then you already have it."

  


* * *

  
"He forgave you," Abby asked, "just like that?"

"Just like that," Dan repeated, glaring at the toy car sitting on its side with its hard plastic wheels exposed.

"I thought Casey was the type to hold a grudge?"

"He normally is." Dan shrugged. "This time, not so much."

Abby didn't let it go. "Did you expect him to hold a grudge?"

"Yeah."

"But he forgave you easily."

"Surprisingly easy," Dan said.

"You don't sound too pleased about that."

Dan scowled, trying to follow Abby's logic. "I did something really stupid. Of course I'm not going to sound pleased about it."

"I meant that you don't sound pleased about being forgiven," Abby said, rather cryptically.

"Well, no," Dan said firmly. "I'm relieved. Who's *pleased* about being forgiven?"

"You don't sound relieved."

"How do I sound?" Dan demanded.

"You sound disappointed," Abby said. "Are you disappointed?"

"What?"

"Are you disappointed that Casey forgave you so easily?"

He snorted at her suggestion. "It was a stupid thing that I did. I'm not disappointed that Casey forgave a friend for being an idiot. Sometimes that's the basis of friendship, forgiving the stupid stuff."

"Why was it foolish?" Abby didn't use the word stupid. Dan had noticed she didn't say it, even when it was true. It was oddly irritating.

He wound the telephone cord around his fingers. "Because I knew Casey wasn't interested."

"How?"

"How did I know he wasn't interested? He's straight, Abby. The logic's pretty obvious."

"How?" she asked again, same tone of voice, same gentle prodding.

"How is the logic obvious?" Dan asked, rolling his eyes. "I thought you were medically trained. Do I need to draw you a diagram?"

She cleared her throat a little, but her tone was still calm. "How do you know he's straight?"

"He was married for ten years."

"So?" He suddenly wished they weren't on the phone. He'd never been good on the phone. He liked seeing people, seeing their expression. Sometimes it made a world of difference to their words. Of course, that didn't work with Abby. He was never certain of precisely what she meant, and she never let enough show to give him a fighting chance.

"He was married for ten years. Trust me, Casey is straight."

"Did you ever ask him?"

"Did I ever-- What kind of a question is that?"

"It's a valid question, Dan. Did you ever ask him?"

"Hey, Casey," Dan's voice rose higher in mockery. "Have you got the basketball scores? Oh, and by the way, do you sleep with guys?"

"I'm serious," she said, and he heard the unspoken rebuke. Stop messing around, Dan. Stop avoiding the question. "Did you ever ask him?"

"People don't introduce themselves with their name, occupation and sexual orientation."

"Dan..."

"I didn't ask. I didn't need to."

"Because he's straight?" Abby asked slowly.

Dan sighed in relief. Finally, she got it. "Yes."

"The same way he thinks you are?"

"That's--" Dan paused, suddenly seeing the conversational trap. "That's completely different."

"How?"

"Well... Because he's straight." Dan had never been more relieved to hear David's voice calling for him. "Abby, I have to go."

"Yeah," she said dryly. "Call me soon."

"I will," he promised and placed the handset back with a tight grip.

  


* * *

  
Dan turned a yellowed page as he answered the phone. "Did you know Sugar Ray Leonard was the only boxer who won titles in five different weight classes?"

Abby let out a short, amused snort. "I can safely say I didn't know that."

"Over a decade, he won titles from welterweight to light heavyweight. Mind you, two of those titles were won for the same fight, but it's still impressive."

"If you're a boxing fan."

Dan rolled his eyes, flicking through the book in his hands. The paper rustled like dry Autumn leaves. "You've heard of Muhammad Ali, right?"

"Yeah," Abby said, "but that doesn't change the fact that boxing's an exercise in violence."

"See, that's what I don't get. Everyone's heard of Ali, everyone will nod and say he's a great athlete, and then they add this little disclaimer that boxing is too violent."

"It is violent. The entire sport revolves around beating someone else up."

"It's an Olympic sport."

"It's still violent."

"It's a *practical* sport."

"Practical?" Abby asked doubtfully.

"Practical, useful. How many times do people actually use hockey sticks or javelins in real life? Not to mention the total uselessness of synchronized diving." Dan closed the book, running his fingers over the creased paper cover. "Using your fists to defend yourself? That's a skill that goes back centuries."

Abby sighed. "If you say so."

"There's skill to the sport. People generalize it, like it's a bunch of cavemen who only care about how hard they can hit something. There's more to it than that," Dan said, warming to his subject. "There's strategy and psyching out your opponent and... other stuff."

"Other stuff?"

"Stuff that involves thinking and planning as well as good instincts," Dan tried hopefully, waving his free hand as he spoke. "Stuff, that someone who knows more than I do about boxing, would be able to explain to you."

"So right now I have to take your word for it?"

Dan grinned. "Yes, you do."

"Fine," Abby conceded. "Do you want to tell me why we're debating the merits of boxing?"

"Because you don't appreciate the nuances of the sport?"

"Why did you bring it up?"

"I'm reading Leonard's biography. I thought it was an interesting and little-known fact."

"That he won five weight titles?"

"Light heavyweight, super middleweight, middleweight, junior middleweight and welterweight. It's impressive."

"Okay," Abby said slowly. "Is this something you usually do?"

"What?"

"Sit around reading athletes' biographies?"

"Not really." Shrugging, Dan pushed the book away. He needed to remember to return it before it was missed; there was an empty space in a heavy wooden bookshelf waiting for it. "But I'm bored and there's a lack of interesting stuff to read in Mom's place. Unless, you know, I want to learn the lost arts of cooking and knitting."

"Those aren't lost arts."

"They are to most guys, and there's a good reason for that," Dan replied.

Abby laughed. "Okay, so to escape the dire fate of learning basic housekeeping skills, you bought a book on a famous boxer?"

"I'll have you know I *can* cook. I'm not world-standard, but I can cook a lot more than Casey."

"Okay."

"And I didn't buy the book. I spotted it sitting at the back of the bookshelf." The book sitting beside him had obviously been read many times. "I think Dad's had it almost as long as Charlie's been alive."

"Your dad's a boxing fan, isn't he?" Abby asked, knowing full-well that he was. Dan tried not to let that bother him.

"I've already told you he is."

"How's your father?"

"He's doing fine." Dan craned his neck back, taking in the plain white ceiling. He wasn't surprised. He'd traveled across a lot of states and he'd never found a hotel that didn't believe in white ceiling paint. "If he's not sleeping, he's surrounded by half a dozen people all wanting to catch up."

"Have you talked to him?"

Dan grimaced. "I was around when Dad got home and I've been around since, but... There's a lot of people around that he actually enjoys talking to. It seems like a waste of time for me to sit there awkwardly."

"That isn't a reason to avoid talking to him," Abby rebuked softly.

"I've got nothing to say to the guy."

"I don't believe in the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. I'm not going to believe that."

"I'm sure Santa must be sad to hear that," Dan joked, walking over to the window and pulling the curtains back. Outside, it was drizzling lightly.

"What about the things you never told him?" Abby asked, and Dan snorted. "You said that there were all these things you'd never told him."

"Doesn't mean I'm going to tell him. It just means there's stuff I *haven't* told him."

"Dan--"

"Look, I tried, okay? I tried to tell him and nothing came out." Running a hand down the slightly stiff curtain fabric, Dan sighed. "I'm not about to repeat that experience."

  


* * *

  
Dan leaned against the open doorway, watching his father sleep. Away from the machines that went 'ping!' and 'beep', the sight was far less frightening. His father still looked pale and old, but he'd lost the ghostly sheen he'd gained under the harsh hospital lights. It was also reassuring that he was snoring loudly and tucked under a pink and brown bedspread.

In his childhood, Dan had always been able to hear his father snoring at night. He could remember listening to the regular pattern as it grew louder and louder, and then suddenly stopped. Sometimes, it was so noisy that it even woke his father up. His father would grumble "What, what is it?" and he and Sam would try to keep their giggles quiet.

Dan stood up, ready to go back downstairs, but his father's snores stopped. "Danny?" his father asked grumpily, rubbing at his eyes. "Why are you skulking in the doorway? Either step into the room or don't."

"I was checking if you were awake," Dan said, walking closer. A couple of chairs had been dragged over to the bedside, but Dan didn't want to sit down.

His father started to pull himself into a sitting position, then winced and lay back down. "Why?"

"Mom asked me to keep an eye on you."

"Oh."

Dan looked around the room, eyes skimming over the solid wooden furniture, the matching floral curtains and bedspread, the old black and white television that had been moved up here while Dad recovered. "So..."

"Yeah?"

"Are you feeling all right?" Dan asked lamely. There was so much he should say, but he had no idea how to say it.

"Apart from my whole chest area," his dad replied tersely, "I'm fine."

"Ah." Dan noticed that he was starting to fidget, starting to wring his hands nervously. He hid them behind his back.

"You really had nothing to say?"

Keeping his hands out of sight, Dan shrugged. "Yeah."

"You know, Danny..." His father was quiet for a long moment. "Is David around?"

"He got here about half an hour ago," Dan said, relieved to have a sensible answer. "He's downstairs. I could get him, if you want."

His father nodded. "Thanks."

  


* * *

  
"It was so awkward," Dan said with a shake of his head. "A few days ago I was thinking about all this stuff that I had to tell him, that he had to know, and then I'm standing there, and wishing I was miles away. Wondering why I came down there in the first place."

"You know why you did."

"Because Mom sounded like she needed the support. I mean, not my support, specifically," Dan added quickly, "but a show of family support."

"You only came down because your mom needed you?" Abby asked carefully.

"Dad's fine, he's recovering well. Mom's fine, she's got David and Susie." Beads of rain collected and then slid down the glass. Dan turned away from the window and dawdled back to the bed. "I don't need to be here."

"You're there because people gather together in a crisis."

"The crisis has come and gone, Abby. People have gathered and now it's time for them to un-gather and go their separate ways."

"You don't want to be there any more?"

"I don't like... It's not that I don't like my family," Dan said, staring at the boxing paperback, "I just don't like spending time with them. I don't like the way it makes me feel."

"Which is?"

"It makes me feel... I don't know, okay?" He drew in a shuddering breath and stopped talking. Raising a hand to rub at his temples, Dan covered his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was far too pleading for comfort. "Abby, I don't want to talk about this."

"Okay. Let's talk about something else."

That sounded easier. "Like what?"

"Like Casey," Abby suggested.

"Abby--" Dan started, feeling himself panic at the thought. Grabbing at the bottle of water sitting on the table, he downed it in rushed gulps. He didn't fool himself into thinking she wouldn't notice his over-reaction.

"Tell me about Lisa."

He finished swallowing and gained some semblance of self-control. "What about her?"

"When you fought with Casey, you told him you weren't like Lisa," Abby said calmly. "What did you mean by that?"

"For a start, we don't share shoe sizes."

"What's the real story?"

"This happened years ago," Dan said, sitting down and screwing the lid back on the bottle of water. "When I first met Casey, he was working at a station in Boston. I was at Dartmouth, and I did an internship at his station."

He'd told Abby this before. Apparently, she remembered. "And then he got the job in LA, right?"

"Yeah. He got me a couple of summer internships over there too, which was how I met Dana."

"Okay."

"Anyway, he'd been married to Lisa for about four years when her father died."

"Was it unexpected?"

"Not really." Dan shrugged. "He'd been diagnosed with cancer so it was sort of a long, slow affair. But the way Lisa reacted, you'd think none of them had known about it."

"She took it badly?"

"She didn't just take it badly, she crumpled." Dan let out a slow sigh, almost feeling guilty about badmouthing Lisa to someone who didn't know her. It was different with Dana and Casey: they'd had first-hand knowledge of the icy shrew. "You need to understand this. Anyone who thinks Casey is self-contained and standoff-ish, hasn't met Lisa. She didn't keep her distance, she put up walls."

"You weren't on friendly terms with her, were you?"

"She divided the world into 'us' and 'them', which isn't a crime in and of itself. But she only confided, only relaxed, around other 'us's." Dan scowled over at the window. The rain was getting heavier, falling in a barrage of rat-a-tat-tat. "She made it very clear that I was always going to be part of 'them'."

"What do you mean?"

"I was at their wedding," Dan said, "and never once did she relax around me. She always kept the conversation polite and impersonal. She never relaxed, she never laughed. She just did this weird smile thing and half-nod."

"Maybe she wasn't demonstrative?"

"No," Dan said firmly, "she was, she just kept it hidden from the world at large."

"How do you know?"

"I used to spot her and Casey, when they thought they were out of sight. She'd laugh and she'd beam at him, and I swear you wouldn't have realized it was the same person." Dan paused, remembering one particular night in Boston. "There was one party where the pair of them had snuck into the study. I got lost looking for the bathroom and saw them."

  


* * *

  
He'd turned left when he should have turned right, he was sure of it. He just needed to go back down this corridor and the bathroom should be somewhere on the left, Dan thought as he retraced his steps. Then he heard the sound of a woman laughing and noticed the door to his right was ajar.

Rolling his eyes to himself, Dan started to walk again. Then he heard a familiar male voice. His curiosity got the better of him.

Easing the door open silently, Dan peered around the softly lit room. Casey was standing, facing the desk, head ducked down to talk in some girl's ear. Casey started to sway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and held his hands up as if he was waltzing. Dan watched with a sinking feeling, then Casey turned around, girl in arm, and Dan recognized Lisa.

From the wide smile on her pretty face, she must have been pretty tipsy. In typical Lisa fashion, her hair was still curl-perfect, her make-up not at all smudged, and the simple linen dress she wore seemed unbelievably wrinkle-free. Dan was sure it required a pact with the devil to always look so well-groomed.

Dan was too far away to hear what they were murmuring to each other, but he could hear Lisa laugh, a sound Dan was certain he'd never heard her make before. Casey started dusting light kisses against her forehead, her cheeks and one on her nose, which made her laugh again. Their dancing slowed as Lisa wrapped her arms around Casey's neck. Then they were kissing, like any happy couple in love, and Casey's hands were sliding over her hips.

Lisa murmured something in Casey's ear and his eyes shot across to the door. He spotted Dan.

"Hey," Dan said, trying to sound casual.

Casey's back straightened, but Lisa was the one that pulled away fast. She took two quick steps away from Casey and turned to face Dan. "Hi, Dan," she said and Dan couldn't see any trace of the former smile.

Casey was blushing like the overgrown Midwestern boy that he was. "We were just..."

"Taking a break from the crowds?" Dan suggested.

"Yeah." Casey nodded and looked to Lisa. "But I think we'll be heading home, right?"

"I think so," she replied coolly. "You don't need a ride back, do you, Dan?"

"Nah, I'm good," Dan said with a casual wave.

  


* * *

  
"She didn't know you very well," Abby said. "Maybe she was shy."

"She knew me ten years," Dan replied. "Lisa's known me longer than Natalie has, and Natalie knows me ten times better."

"So how does this relate to her losing her father?"

"You get that she was very self-contained, right? Well groomed and so impossible to touch," Dan said in a tone so bitter it surprised him. "When she lost her father, she got really depressed. And I mean *really* depressed. For a woman who was always so well-presented, she stopped caring about how she looked. She stopped caring about the house. From what Casey said, the only thing she seemed to care about was Charlie, who was about three at the time."

"How did you find out about this?" Abby asked.

"I used to talk to Casey regularly. I'd call, I'd sometimes write. This was before Casey gave up on writing letters," Dan added as an afterthought. "He mentioned that Lisa was 'having a hard time' dealing with her dad's death but he didn't say how bad it was. In fact, he didn't let much slip about it at all."

"Hmm?"

"But that summer, I interned in LA, staying at a college friend's place. So, I saw first-hand how little effort Casey was putting into work."

"What was happening?"

"Casey was coming in late in the mornings. He was taking long lunches. He was leaving as early as he could. Dana told me what was going on."

  


* * *

  
After the fifth day of Casey not showing up on time, Dan decided to track down someone who knew what was going on -- in other words, Dana. He found her, holding an armful of tapes and talking to the executive producer.

He waited until they were done and then fell into step beside her. "Can I talk to you?"

"I've got a busy day, Dan. Make it quick." Dana huffed up at her fringe, trying to blow it out of her eyes. It was a stylish cut, but the fringe hung below her eyebrows. She seemed to spend a lot of time pushing it out of the way.

"What's going on with Casey?"

She stopped. "What?"

"Fifth day in a row he hasn't turned up. Casey's middle name is conscientious. What's going on?"

Dana started walking again, leading him to the sound recording room. "Casey Conscientious McCall? I guess it isn't any worse than James."

"Dana, you've known him longer than anyone," Dan said as she closed the door behind them. "This isn't like him."

Sighing, she nodded. "Lisa's... She's going through a bad time."

Dan stared at her. "So why is Casey late?"

"He's spending time with Lisa." Dana crossed her arms, giving a strange shrug. "He won't tell me much, but from what he's said, she's not coping. She's not coping with looking after Charlie and running the house, so Casey's trying to do more. If you have any idea of Casey's domestic talents, you'll understand why he's putting in fewer hours at the office."

Despite his concerns, Dan chuckled. "He's far from being the domestic ideal."

"Yeah, but he's worried about her and he's trying to help," Dana said, scowling at the tapes in her hand. "I can't fault him for that."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

Shooting him a grateful look, Dana thrust two tapes into his hands. "You could do the shot sheets that Casey was supposed to get done this morning."

  


* * *

  
"It continued like that for weeks. Casey worked hard, when he was there," Dan said, stretching back on the bed, "but he was putting in minimum hours while Dana and I covered for him. Eventually, I got sick of it. I thought he was overreacting."

"Yeah?"

Dan winced. "I pretty much forced him to prove it to me."

"How?"

"He was going home every day for lunch, so I started bothering him to have lunch with me. I'd been there for about a month and I only saw him around the office, usually when he was too busy to chat." Dan sighed tiredly. "So I bugged him to come out to lunch."

"But he said he was going home?"

"Yeah, so I suggested going home with him for lunch."

"Was it as bad as Casey said?"

"It was worse. Lisa kept the house spotless -- freakishly, clinically spotless. The place was a mess. Takeout cartons on the floor, a pile of washing on the couch, and the ironing board sitting in the middle of the living room with a tower of shirts on it. Casey had warned me that it was Friday, so he'd clean everything up on the weekend, but still."

Dan paused, remembering his pure shock at the sight. "Middle of the day and the curtains were closed. And Lisa was sitting on the couch watching TV, wearing sweats and no make-up. It was very possible she hadn't even brushed her hair. Seriously, it was like stepping into Bizarro World."

"Comic reference?" Abby asked cautiously.

"Yeah," Dan replied, "universe of opposites kind of thing."

"Ah," Abby said, understanding the allusion.

"The real warning was in the car. Casey stopped in his driveway, flipped down the mirror and fussed with his hair."

"That was a warning?"

"It is for Casey. It's this thing he does when he's nervous, when he wants to make a good impression. If he's worried about an upcoming segment, he'll do it during the C-break. He'll go out the back and try to flick the front of his hair up," Dan explained, mimicking the gesture as he tried to figure out how to explain it. "He brushes his hand across his forehead, and up, like it makes any difference. But if he's nervous, if he needs to get his game face on, he'll stand in front of a mirror and fuss."

"And he did that before seeing Lisa?"

"You shouldn't need your game face to talk to your wife. If you're sharing the same bed, you shouldn't need to prepare yourself for an everyday conversation," Dan said forcefully. "They should know you well enough to give you a little leeway."

Abby was quiet for a moment, and then she asked, "Did Casey frequently worry about what Lisa would think of him?"

"Yeah, but..." Dan bobbed his head from side to side as he thought. "Not to that extent. I have a feeling Casey guessed how Lisa would react to me being there."

"She didn't appreciate it?"

"She was *furious*. Absolutely furious that Casey had brought someone home, that Casey had allowed anyone to see her and the house like that. Casey was in the doghouse for about a week over that one. Sleeping on the couch and everything." Breathing deeply, Dan fingered the bed covers. "I've got to say one thing for Lisa. She's one of the few people who can hold a grudge better than Casey. She really knew how to dole out the emotional punishment."

"What did she do?"

"About a week and a half later, she went to stay with her mother. In Texas."

  


* * *

  
Dan looked up as someone dropped a bag on the desk. It was Casey's old backpack, and above the hulk of navy and grey material, Casey was blinking at him. "Why are you sitting at my desk?"

"Because I'm an intern and my desk is tiny. In fact, it's non-existent," Dan replied. "Besides, you're never in at this time of morning."

Casey nodded. "Fair enough."

"Why are you in early?" Dan asked, sitting up straight and watching Casey try not to lean on the cubicle's tremulous walls.

"Technically, I'm on time."

"Which, these days, *is* early for you."

Casey smiled weakly. "Yeah, well. A change is as good as a holiday, right?"

Narrowing his eyes, Dan watched Casey avoid eye contact. "What's up?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What's up?"

"Danny, let's not do this," Casey said, rubbing hard at the back of his neck. "I just want to get through today."

That was a warning sign. A big one. Dan stood up and stepped closer to Casey. "What happened? Is Lisa still holding a grudge about me coming over?"

Casey's face went through an uncomfortable series of expressions, stopping halfway between a sneer and a grimace. "Not really."

"Talk," Dan ordered, not caring that Casey was five years older and a supposed professional.

Casey opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Talk, Casey." Dan settled back on his heels and crossed his arms. "You know I'm not going to let you get any work done until you do, so you might as well make this easy on both of us."

Casey was silent for a long moment, then he spoke softly. "Lisa's going to stay at her mom's."

Dan felt his eyes go wide. "You two are splitting up?"

"No," Casey said hastily, shaking his head. "It's temporary. Short-term only."

"How short?"

"I don't know," Casey replied, sounding helpless as he shrugged. "Lisa didn't say."

"What happened?"

Staring at the carpet, Casey recited staunchly, "Lisa said that she needs her family. That she's not getting a grip on what happened and she's sick of it. She's sick of feeling like a bad wife and a bad mother. She thinks that with a bit of family support, she'll get over it."

Dan rolled his neck, trying to understand what was going on. "When is she going down?"

"She organized a flight for tomorrow."

"Okay," Dan said, nodding. Then he thought of Charlie and frowned. "What are you going to do about childcare? Charlie can't come into the office with you."

He didn't think it was possible, but Casey's expression became more resigned. "She's taking Charlie with her."

  


* * *

  
"That was the real kicker," Dan said. "Casey wasn't earning that much in LA. He didn't earn much at Lone Star, either, because it was a small show on a small network. It wasn't until he got Sports Night that his salary really jumped. And it did jump considerably."

"How does that relate to Lisa?" Abby asked, trying to get him back on topic.

"Casey didn't have the money to spare to fly down every weekend. He was providing for Lisa's living expenses in Austin, as well as his expenses in LA, and he ended up only flying down every two or three weeks. It killed him not to see Charlie."

"But they didn't break up?"

"No. She returned," Dan said and gave a critical snort, "but everyone could see things weren't the same."

"How had things changed?"

"She spent three months swanning around in Austin. Casey spent three months being almost single, going out with the crew because there was no one waiting for him at home. Staying out drinking, making friends with the people he worked with. Even flirting with Dana," Dan said.

"That started in LA?" Abby asked curiously.

"And reared its ugly head in Dallas, too. Casey would flirt with her for a week or so, and then apologize. He'd be ashamed for about a month, and then it would start again." Dan sat up on the bed, shifting restlessly. He didn't want to talk about Dana and Casey. "If you ask me, the real problem was that Casey became a 'them'."

"What?"

"I think Lisa redefined the 'us' team, with her and Charlie and her family on one side, and Casey and everyone else on the other. She was colder than ever when she came back."

"Do you think that was the start of their divorce?"

Dan shook his head. "Casey said it started when he chose Lone Star over Late Night. Which would have been, oh, about six months after she came back. It might have contributed, but I don't think it was the reason."

"Huh."

"What?"

"So when you said you weren't like Lisa," Abby said, and Dan could easily picture her leaning forward in her chair, about to spring a question on him, "what did you mean?"

"Didn't I just explain that?"

"Did you mean that you weren't going to be depressed for months?" she pushed. "Because that's not something you can promise."

"I meant he shouldn't feel that he has to do everything for me," Dan said.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"You didn't possibly mean that you wouldn't act like Lisa, that you wouldn't leave when things got difficult?"

Dan snorted. "Casey knows I wouldn't abandon him like she did."

"Abandon?" Abby asked archly. "Interesting word choice."

"Look, I meant that he doesn't need to pussyfoot around me," Dan said clearly. "I'm not going to suddenly up and disappear. I don't need him to put his life on hold. I'm not Lisa."

"Huh."

"You know that's really irritating when you do that," Dan complained.

"Do what?"

"Go 'huh' as if you know exactly what's going on inside my head."

"I don't know *exactly* what's going on, but I am getting a rough idea." Abby paused. "I'm going to have to go soon. When are you back in the city?"

"I'm driving back tomorrow. I'm sick of standing around like the spare son," Dan said dryly.

"Do you want to meet me on Sunday?"

"Gee. Therapy. On a day off." Dan couldn't help the sarcasm. "How can I resist?"

"I'll buy you a pretzel. You must have missed those."

Dan almost grinned. "You'll need to offer more than a pretzel to tempt me."

"What about two?"

Snorting in amusement, Dan gave in. "Okay. I'll see you Sunday. But you're buying me two pretzels. And a hot dog."

  


* * *

  
"You know," Dan said, as he held the cab door open for Abby, "since I paid for the cab, your offer of hot dogs and pretzels has lost its gleam of generosity."

Abby got out and then shook her brown hair out of her face. "I promised food, not transport." She combed it back with her fingers and then settled dark sunglasses on her nose.

"And yet, you were the one who suggested Central Park."

"It's a beautiful day, Dan. It's a waste to spend it indoors."

"So you said," Dan agreed. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the reassuring smells of New York. "I can smell hot dogs."

Abby looked around, spotting the hot dog stand. "Do you want one?"

"Nah, I just ate." Dan shrugged and started walking through the park proper. "I'm appreciating the scent of my home town. How do people live in a city where you can't smell hot dogs and pretzels?"

"Some people do manage it."

"Yeah, but they don't know what they're missing."

Abby laughed. "They're missing the smell of the subway." The strap on her lemon handbag started to slip down as she walked. She hiked it up with a quick, impatient gesture, not slowing her pace at all.

"That's a good point," Dan said, scrunching his nose up.

"The scent of New York is an acquired taste."

Dan grinned. "Like me."

"You sound better."

"I feel better." Looking up, Dan was comforted that he could still see buildings over the tops of the trees. That was what a skyline should look like: buildings stretching up into eternity. "Dad's going to be fine. And you can't overestimate the healing powers of a good night's sleep in your own bed."

"Did you talk to your dad?"

"Not anything more meaningful than our last conversation." Dan sighed. He wasn't in the mood to fight Abby over this. "It's Sunday and we're having a nice walk in Central Park. Is this really what you wanted me to talk about?"

"No."

He glanced over at Abby, who seemed distracted by a group of college kids sitting on the grass. A handful of guys and a couple of girls were caught up in animated discussion, a few of them sitting close enough that their flirting was obvious. "No?"

"No."

"Then what did you want to talk about?"

"I want you to tell me what happened with Casey."

Dan rolled his eyes. "Are you starting to suffer selective amnesia, Abby? I already told you."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"You told me part of the story." She tilted her head down and looked at him over the dark glasses. "I want to hear the rest."

Dan snorted, scuffing at the path with his foot. "I already told you that he came down, stayed a night, and then had to go back to work. What more is there to tell?"

"You could tell me the rest."

"What do you want to hear?"

Abby shrugged a shoulder, the one that didn't have her brown handbag hanging from it. "Tell me about the next morning."

"I got woken up by a call from the hospital, saying Dad's condition had stabilized. I told Casey--"

"How?" Abby interrupted.

"I used smoke signals," Dan said sarcastically. "I called reception and got them to put me through to his room."

"You slept in your own room?"

"You like asking the obvious questions, don't you?"

Abby wasn't ruffled. "The obvious lies are the ones most people can't keep straight."

"I slept in my room. He slept in his room. I used a telephone to tell him about Dad." Dan burrowed his hands into his pockets. "He was already up, so we agreed to meet at my room."

"Then what happened?"

"He came to my room, I finished brushing my teeth, and then you called." Dan tried not to sound too sarcastic. "Then, Casey gave me a bit of privacy and went to buy papers."

"What happened next?"

"I talked to you. You do remember that conversation, right?"

Abby smiled slightly. "Yeah. So what happened after you hung up?"

"I didn't hang up."

"You ran away from that conversation. You lied about what happened with Casey, and then you got off the phone as fast as you could."

Dan could feel the sunshine on the back of his neck. It wasn't warm enough for sunburn, but he was starting to wish he'd put on sunscreen, just in case. "You make it sound a lot worse than it was."

"That's a pretty accurate description of what happened."

"It wasn't that bad."

"It was you, trying to avoid talking about something that makes you uncomfortable."

"That's because you keep asking for details." Dan had to work hard to keep the defensive snarl out of his tone. Abby stopped walking. "You keep asking for more and more details, as if you don't believe me. It's insulting."

"You're lying to me," Abby said firmly. She watched him for a long moment, then started walking again. He fell into step beside her. "Tell me what happened after Casey got the papers."

"Why?"

"Because you don't want to."

"That's logic that only makes sense in Abby-Land," Dan said weakly.

"A word of advice, Dan. Pick your battles," Abby said gently, pushing her sunglasses up her nose with a single finger. "If you want me to believe there was nothing more to Casey's visit, tell me the details. Stop fighting so hard on this."

Dan ran a hand through his own short hair. "I met Casey down in the lobby."

  


* * *

  
Casey was sitting on a low chair, the paper spread in front of him. It had taken over most of the coffee table, but Casey was too involved in the sports section to notice the disapproving looks from the hotel staff.

Dan walked over and sat down. "Hey."

"Hey," Casey replied with an uneasy smile. He pointed at the muffin and coffee sitting on the table, and Dan picked them up. "Everything... okay?"

"Abby still thinks I'm nuts, if that's what you're asking."

Casey grinned at him. "Most of us think that."

"But she's the only one qualified to make that judgment." Feeling a little rebellious, Dan swung a leg over one arm of the chair and took a big bite of the orange and poppy seed muffin. "The rest of you don't have a clue."

"We're perfectly qualified," Casey shot back, folding up the paper. "We're just as nuts as you are. We know how to recognize the signs."

"But she's the only one that can get me locked away."

Casey's brows shot up. "Really?"

"I think so." Dan stopped, and thought about it. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure."

"Yeah, because that information isn't important at all," Casey scoffed.

"If I worried about everyone who wanted to stick me in a padded room, I'd never get anything done."

Casey laughed softly. Then his expression sobered. "You are doing okay, right?"

The skin across Dan's cheeks suddenly felt tight. "I'm fine."

"Because I could stay an extra few days," Casey offered, staring at the folded newspapers, "if you want."

Dan shook his head. "I'll be fine."

"Sure?"

"If I needed you," Dan said, forcing himself to meet Casey's concerned eyes, "I'd ask."

Casey watched him carefully, and Dan didn't need psychiatric training to know Casey wasn't convinced. Mercifully, Casey didn't pursue the conversation. "Do you want to go to the hospital now?"

"Yeah."

  


* * *

  
"That was it. He hung around the hospital for a couple of hours, then he had to check out and go home."

"He didn't have to," Abby said quietly. She pointed to a bench. "Did you want to sit down?"

"No." Dan shook his head. "He did have to. He had the show to do."

"You could have asked him to stay."

"I didn't want him to."

"Why not?"

Dan swallowed. "You know, I'm kind of hungry. Can I take you up on that hot dog now?"

"Dan."

Dan stared at the branches above them. He squinted against the patches of bright sunshine. "I didn't want him to, Abby. The show doesn't need both of us gone."

"The world wouldn't stop if Casey took a few days off."

"It wouldn't stop, but it wouldn't be good. We're fighting ESPN and Fox for viewers, and people tune in for the presenters as much as the reporting quality. It wouldn't help ratings."

"And you don't want your personal needs to impact Casey's career?"

Dan rolled his eyes. "You're blowing this way out of proportion."

"True or false," Abby said and Dan's stomach clenched: these questions were never good. "You didn't want to ask Casey for a personal favor?"

"Not for an unnecessary one."

"You didn't want to ask him, because it would require him prioritizing your friendship over his job?"

"That's got nothing to do with--"

"True or false, Dan."

"I don't need him here," Dan snarled.

"Here?"

Dan scowled. "There. I didn't need him *there*. There wasn't anything Casey could do to help Dad. It's not like he's become a cardiac surgeon overnight."

"And having him around didn't make you feel better? Wasn't supportive or reassuring in any way?"

"I didn't need him for that." Dan licked at his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "I wasn't going to fall apart without him."

"Because you're not Lisa?" Abby asked, raising an eyebrow over her dark glasses.

"Not because I'm not Lisa. Because I'm not a total emotional cripple."

Nodding to herself, Abby started to open her bag. "Did you really want the hot dog?"

"Not really." The last thing his stomach wanted was food.

Abby shot him a sideways glance. "Nauseous?" she asked, almost snidely.

"Big lunch," Dan lied.

"Okay."

Dan kept walking, one foot in front of the other. He rubbed at his chin and watched the people around him, watched the way New Yorkers went out of their way not to notice everyone else. As long as you didn't make eye contact, a crowd wasn't a group of people; it was an impersonal thing blocking your path.

"I like Central Park in the fall," he said finally. "It's the prettiest season."

"It's lovely, but I'm not looking forward to wearing winter coats again."

"I don't know." Dan shrugged. "There's something charming about winter, off-white snow and all."

Abby nodded, and then said, "So."

"So?"

"Are you going to tell me the rest of what happened with Casey?"

Dan drew a deep breath through his nose, smelling home. "Why should I?"

"Because you're going out of your way to sabotage your friendship with him?"

"Abby," Dan spluttered. "I'm not--"

"He's your closest, and oldest, friend. And you went out of your way not to tell him about your father. You went out of your way to alienate him--"

"I didn't alienate--"

"--You purposely didn't tell him."

"I didn't tell anyone!" Dan said, a little too loudly. He closed his mouth firmly, then continued in a lower tone, "I didn't tell anyone. You know that."

"When you did tell someone, you told Natalie. And then you purposely spent three days not letting him know."

"I thought Natalie had told him."

"No, you didn't. You knew Natalie would assume Casey knew. You also knew that Casey would have brought it up, had he known."

Dan chewed on the inside of his cheek, the sting not quite sharp enough. "Maybe."

Beside him, Abby nodded as she walked. "You didn't tell him because you knew he'd take offence at it, and he'd react badly."

"You think I wanted Casey mad at me?" As far as Dan could see, this was always the worst part of therapy. These moments when Abby saw through him like he was glass, when she talked about things he didn't even admit to himself; these moments when she made him look at his actions and doubt his own motives.

"You wanted him mad at you, but you didn't want to hurt him. So you went round to apologize, thinking you could do that safely because, regardless of apologies, you knew he'd hold a grudge for a while. But he surprised you by apologizing first."

Dan's brows knitted, thinking about that night. He hadn't thought anything of the sort, he'd just... known he'd done the wrong thing and should apologize. "I was just sorry. It wasn't..."

"You were sorry, but you didn't want to be forgiven. So instead of accepting Casey's apology gracefully, you reacted by trying to push him away."

Dan shook his head, trying to block out Abby's voice. "I didn't--"

"You kissed him. You were sure he was straight, you were sure he'd reject you, so you did something that would make Casey uncomfortable, would force him to keep his distance from you."

"It was just a stupid impulse."

"It wasn't, Dan. It was a cunning but misguided ploy." Abby's lips pursed as she watched him. "You're not stupid. You're a very smart man and you're rather adept at sabotaging yourself."

"Why--" Dan started, but couldn't force the rest of the question out. "Why misguided?"

"Because Casey isn't as straight as you assumed," Abby said with a scary amount of confidence, "so it didn't stop him from going over to Connecticut to see you. And it didn't stop something more from happening."

"Something more?"

Abby nodded. "Tell me what happened."

Dropping his chin to his chest, Dan crossed his arms. He bit down on his bottom lip and tightened his fists until his knuckles went white. In the end, it was Abby's silence that made him speak. "I fell asleep."

Abby kept walking beside him, regular footsteps against the path, but she didn't say anything.

"We were watching baseball in my room, and he said not to worry about Monday night, and then he forgave me, like it was nothing. And then I fell asleep."

  


* * *

  
"What do you want, Danny?"

"Forgiveness, I think."

When he looked up, Casey was watching him with soft, concerned eyes. "Then you already have it."

Dan's voice got trapped somewhere between his chest and his throat. All he could do was nod gratefully.

"Is there anything I can do?" It was possibly his imagination, but Dan was sure Casey was leaning closer.

He cleared his throat and pulled his hands away. "I'm not Lisa."

"There are so many ways that you're not Lisa," Casey said, winding his arm around the nape of Dan's neck, "and most of them have nothing to do with this."

"I'm not--" Dan managed before his throat closed.

Casey slid his hand across to Dan's shoulder, settling his arm between Dan and the wall behind him. Dan could feel himself tense up. "Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's just watch the game."

Dan nodded and thankfully turned his gaze to the bright television screen. It took two batters before his spine relaxed against the cool plaster. After another batter, his head was resting against Casey's upper arm. He couldn't shake the feeling that Casey was still watching him. He didn't dare look up and check.

  


* * *

  
"I fell asleep. I just... fell asleep."

Abby's voice was calculatedly gentle. "What happened after that?"

Dan started to protest. "Abby--"

"I could make an educated guess, but I need you to tell me."

"Guess away," Dan said, feeling a little mean. "If you get it right, then I'll tell you."

"You spent most of the night with Casey. You made some sort of sexual overture--"

Dan snorted. "What am I, a symphony conductor?"

"--and he responded," Abby finished. She frowned for a moment, and then added, "But I don't think you slept with him."

"Why not?"

"I think you started to, and then you panicked. You couldn't name why, but you suddenly couldn't go through with it."

Dan stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her. "How could you know that?" He could still remember Casey's hands on his shoulders, the way Casey groaned low in the back of his throat; the way it had suddenly been too much, and a huge mistake, and his heart had been thundering in his chest. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I've been seeing you for months, and I know you. Because my qualifications didn't come free with my fifth purchase at Seven-Eleven."

"Huh," Dan managed with a shaky voice.

"Tell me what happened."

Dan shook his head wordlessly. "Give me a minute."

"Okay."

"Look, we..." Dan rubbed hard at his temples. "This isn't, you know, easy to talk about."

"Start at the beginning, and tell me step by step."

"This isn't an everyday conversation--"

"Step by step, Dan."

"It wasn't a step by step thing, Abby. It was Casey and me and…" Dan stopped and looked around desperately for the nearest bench, as if rough wood and plain metal would keep him afloat while everything crashed around him. He spotted one and sat down quickly, clinging to his makeshift raft. "It was us, and then it was desperate, like high-school desperate, and… I really don't know what happened."

"Dan?" Abby sat beside him, rearranging the way her tan skirt fell. "Just *try* to tell me, okay? Try."

Dan nodded, like a puppet on strings. "It didn't start-- It." He stopped, breathed and wiped his hands on his thighs. "I woke up. Casey woke me up."

  


* * *

  
"Danny? Wake up." The words slowly drifted through Dan's dreamless sleep, but they didn't make any sense until he was given a sudden shake. He pried his eyes open and found Casey watching him with a slightly annoyed expression.

"Hey."

"You're lying on my arm, Rip Van Winkle," Casey complained, "which was fine half an hour ago, but now I can't feel my fingers."

Dan yawned, rubbing at his face. He sat up, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back much like a sleepy cat.

Casey took the opportunity to pull his arm back. "Finally."

"You've got two arms," Dan said, unsuccessfully trying to stifle another yawn, "you can spare one."

"Thanks for the sympathy." Casey flicked his hand back and forth, as if he could shake the numbness out of it. Then he winced and stopped. "Ow. Pins-and-needles, pins-and-needles, pins-and-needles! Ow!"

"You are such a baby."

Casey glared at him. "Yeah, well, I'm the one currently in pain because of your heavy head. As I see it, this is your fault."

"Then I'll fix it." Dan held out his hand, but Casey just blinked at it. Rolling his eyes, Dan grabbed Casey's pain-filled arm and started massaging it firmly. Rubbing his thumbs steadfastly along the pale skin of Casey's inner arm, he ignored Casey's winces and half-heard mumblings. He worked his way from Casey's elbow to his wrist, and then paused. "Better?"

Casey was staring at Dan's fingers. Then he licked his lips and said, "Danny," so softly that Dan was surprised he heard it at all.

"See? All better," Dan said, pulling his hands away and settling them on the bedspread beneath him. He turned to Casey to tell him something -- he wasn't sure what -- and suddenly they were kissing. Casey's parted lips were on his and Casey's shoulder was under his hand, and it all went downhill from there.

  


* * *

  
"Dan?"

"Yeah?" Dan was thankful for the interruption, which was strange. He was Dan who's great with women, Danny who's comfortable talking about sex; he was the guy who didn't get flustered, who didn't get embarrassed about discussing his sex life. Not that he talked about sex to everyone he met, but he wasn't puritanical or reserved about anything sexual in nature. After all, the only person more open-minded and comfortable discussing sex was Kim.

Except he was here, talking to Abby -- the one person that he should be able to feel comfortable talking to -- and every word was a struggle.

"Quick question." Abby was watching him, and he was pretty sure she knew that he was weighing his words carefully. "Who kissed who?"

"What?"

"When you and Casey kissed, who kissed who?"

Dan frowned, dragging his fingers along the rough wood of the bench. "Does it matter?"

Abby smiled for a moment. "Indulge my curiosity."

"I kissed him. Why--"

"Did you?" Abby interrupted.

"What?" Dan was confused, and he was sure it showed on his face. "I just said I did."

"If you close your eyes and think back, are you absolutely certain you kissed him?"

"Yeah, I--" Dan stopped, thinking hard. He'd been surprised, jolted at the contact, at the warmth of Casey's lips. He'd had his hand on Casey's shoulder, but he could remember Casey's fingers grasping at his hip, pressing down for balance because Casey had been the one leaning over. "I was sure I kissed him."

Abby nodded slightly. "Are you sure now?"

"Not really." Dan pressed his knuckles against his lips, sorting through the cacophony of memories, trying to separate one kiss from the next. He kissed Casey; he could remember pushing Casey down into the mattress, sucking on Casey's tongue as his fingers fumbled with Casey's shirt buttons. But the more he thought about it, the less sure he was that he'd been the one to start it. "Why would I think I kissed him? I mean, if I didn't, I was pretty sure I had. Why aren't I remembering it right?"

"The simple answer is that you were distracted and everybody's memory plays tricks on them."

"What's the complex answer?"

"You remembered what you wanted to remember."

"Considering that's the complex answer, it sounds pretty simple."

"Not when you think about it." Abby crossed her ankles, one chocolate-brown boot over the other. "There's a reason you keep telling yourself that's how it happened."

Dan's shoulders tensed as he waited for Abby to explain more. He crossed his arms, trying to hide the tension. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you're more comfortable seeing yourself as the aggressor, the instigator. The idea that Casey wanted it, almost as much as you, unnerves you." Abby waved her hand and the light caught on her simple gold bracelet. "Want to tell me what else happened?"

Dan pressed his crossed arms tight against his chest. "We kissed, we slept together, the end."

"Okay, now tell me what really happened."

Dan took a deep breath in, and when he pushed it out, he tried to push the tension out of himself as well. He let his shoulders slump, let his hands rest loosely in his lap and tried to stop second-guessing his own words. He closed his eyes, hoping that would make it easier. It didn't. "I don't want to talk about this any more."

Abby's skirt rustled as she stood up. "Okay."

"That's it?"

"You're coming in on Tuesday, right?"

"Yeah, but…" Dan craned his neck to watch her. The sun was behind her, so he could only make out a shadowy silhouette. "You ask me this stuff, I say I don't want to talk about it, and that's it?"

"Dan?" Abby settled the lemon strap on her shoulder and held her bag against her hip. "You need to think about some stuff. It won't hurt to wait until Tuesday."

"You really think that?"

Abby nodded. "I really do."

"So you asked me weird questions, found out I'm lying to myself and you're not even going to stick around to find out why?" Dan stood up sharply. "Are you sure my money's being well-spent here?"

The corners of Abby's mouth tightened; it wasn't quite a frown. "How do you feel about Casey?"

"He's my best friend."

Abby shook her head. "Don't answer. I just want you to think about it before we talk on Tuesday."

"How I feel about Casey?"

"And how you feel about your father."

"Yeah, because that's my favorite topic to ponder," Dan said sarcastically. He looked around the park, at the stark sunlight and swaying leaves, and tried to stop being so churlish. "So I'm just supposed to think about that in general? Or is this mental homework a little specific?"

Abby pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. "Think about when you were most proud of your father. Think about when it was touch and go, and how you felt. Think about why you were so afraid."

"That's it?"

"And think about how you feel about Casey," Abby said firmly.

Dan raised an eyebrow. "That one doesn't get any more specific?"

"That one doesn't need to be specific." Abby smiled, and took a step away. "I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Tuesday," Dan agreed. He couldn't say why, but he was already dreading the next appointment.

  


* * *

  


When Dan showed up at her office, the door was open. He leaned against the doorway and waited for her to look over at her. "Do you think this helps?"

"Hi, Dan."

"This therapy thing. The whole shebang. Do you think it's helping?"

"You don't?"

Dan shrugged one shoulder, and leaned the other against the doorframe. "I'm unconvinced."

"Unconvinced?"

"I'm unconvinced that it actually helps. No offence to your skills," Dan added quickly, "but I'm a little unconvinced. For seven hundred dollars a month, I could have taken a lot of women out to dinner, and probably been just as happy in the long term. I have no proof that I am in any way healthier for seeing you every week."

Abby shifted back in her chair, settling her elbows on the desk. "Do you want proof?"

"I wouldn't say no."

"I like you," Abby said and then raised her eyebrows at him. "There's your proof."

"Abby, I'm paying you seven hundred dollars a month. For that amount, I expect you to like me. Or at least fake it."

"No." Abby stood up and started walking towards him. "I like you as a person, not as a client. I find you a likeable guy, Dan. If I met you out socially, I'd want to get to know you."

Dan frowned, trying to make sense of it. "And that's my proof?"

"Does it make you feel better?"

"Not particularly."

Abby nodded. "*That's* your proof."

"I'm getting better because I don't care if you like me?"

"You're getting better because you don't obsess as much over people liking you. It doesn't mean as much and you're not prepared to accept someone else's judgment of you over your own." Abby leaned on the door handle, obviously about to close the door. "Are you going to sit down now?"

"Okay, but I think that proof is dodgy at best."

"Well, you're a fairly dodgy client, so it all works out," Abby said as he sat down on the dark couch. "How about this for proof? When was the last time you had a panic attack?"

"A week ago," Dan said, reaching over to the low table to pick up a candy. This week, the brass bowl was filled with toffees.

"A week ago?"

"Casey," Dan replied quickly, tearing the plastic wrapper apart. "Let's not make a thing out of it, okay?"

Abby sat in the armchair and rested her hands loosely in her lap. "We'll need to talk about him sometime." Dan made a face, and she continued, "But we can talk about your father, if you prefer."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but, yeah." Dan popped the toffee into his mouth and started sucking on it. The one good thing about seeing Abby was that she always had quality candies.

"Any idea why you were afraid?"

"I wasn't afraid," Dan said around the toffee, "I was worried for him. And for Mom. Worried, not scared. That's a big difference."

"You weren't scared? If you stop and think about how your life would be without him, it doesn't frighten you?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"Not at all."

"Could you answer that question again?" Abby leaned forward, just with her shoulders, like she was peering over a fence to watch animals at the zoo. "This time, give honesty a shot."

"What makes you not think I'm being honest? Think I'm not being honest," Dan corrected with a grimace.

"That you were too terrified to tell me, or anyone else, until weeks after the fact?"

"Apart from that."

Abby rolled her eyes. "You don't hide it well enough to lie to me, okay?"

"Then maybe you shouldn't be asking," Dan said, reaching for another toffee. "Maybe we should be talking about something less related to death and badness."

"Like you being proud of your dad?"

"That would work."

"Okay." Abby leaned back. "Tell me about it."

"You think I've got a story ready to tell?"

Abby smiled. "Dan, I *know* you've got a story ready to tell."

Grinning, Dan pocketed the candy wrapper in his hand. "Do you know Mom's still got the same furniture that we had in New York? That furniture's about as old as I am."

"She couldn't buy something new?"

Dan snorted. "With Dad?"

"Your father couldn't make her something new?"

"Theoretically, yes, but that wasn't where I was going with the story." Dan shrugged. "I was going to say that they still have the desks and bedside tables Dad made for Sue and David."

"Okay."

"I helped him make them."

"How old were you?"

"Tiny. Like four, maybe five. I don't think I was even in school yet." Dan stretched his neck to the side, and noticed that in the muted, overcast light, Abby's walls looked more peach than orange. He hadn't noticed that before. "At the time, it was the six of us living in a three bedroom apartment. David had just had his ninth birthday and had begged for a room of his own. Pure, shameless begging. Offered to go without gifts for the next three years if he could have his own room."

"You were pretty young," Abby said slowly. "How much of this do you remember?"

"It's a family story. You remember it because people tell it to you. But you interrupted," Dan said with an impatient wave. "Anyway, David had a point. I was five and Sam was three, so it was a lot of us crammed into one small room. Dad decided to solve the problem by moving into Sue's room and splitting the master bedroom into two."

Abby held a hand up in the air. "Can I interrupt your narrative flow for a moment?"

"Okay," Dan said warily.

"How did he separate one room into two?"

"David and Sue were kids at the time, so they didn't need a lot of space. They just needed a single bed, a closet and a desk. So Dad built these big wooden walls, sort of like sliding screens, except they didn't slide. And they weren't screens so much as big sheets of wood that cut the room in half," Dan said, running his hands along an imaginary wall. "They were attached pretty solidly, because I can remember running into one when I was eight and, man, did that hurt. Dad painted it to match the walls."

"Huh."

"It wasn't soundproof, but it separated the rooms."

Abby looked impressed. "That's pretty clever."

"Yeah, but it was small. Like, really small. Each room fitted a single bed and not much else, so Dad made bedside drawers and closets and these weird three-quarter desks. He made them exactly so they'd fit into the space. There wasn't a spare inch of wall, apart from the doorways."

"How did the doorways work?"

"You open a door, you walk through it, and there you are, inside the room."

Abby's lips quirked up. "No, I meant what did he do about the doorway? You couldn't use one door for two rooms."

"The old doorway was in the middle of the room, right down where the wooden wall separated them. Dad took that door out, and made a triangle, angling the two doors into Sue and David's rooms." Dan put his hands flat against each other, and then pulled his palms away from each other so they made a triangle. Then he swung his wrists further out, almost making a straight line, as he tried to show Abby the doors opening. "They both opened inwards, so it worked fine."

"And you were proud of him?"

Dan half-shrugged, just moving one shoulder. "It's a pretty handy accomplishment."

"Can you remember being proud of him?"

"I can remember..." Dan paused, searching for the right words. "I can remember being *amazed*, Abby. I can remember watching him pick up these bits of wood, and cut them and sand them and use grooves to stick them together, and suddenly, they weren't just bits of wood. They were *things*. I thought my father was magical. He could pick up bits of nothing and turn it into something beautiful."

"He let you help?"

Dan nodded. "Not that I think I was much help, though. A five year old with sanding paper? I probably ended up scratching it, if I did anything."

Abby toyed with her pen, her pale pink fingernails twirling the blue pen as she spoke. It was a rather useless pen, considering she didn't have any paper to write on. "But you didn't feel like that then, right?"

Dan shrugged, unwilling to speak.

"Dan?"

"He spent a lot of weekends and a lot of nights making that stuff. He was always busy with something."

"Did you spend a lot of time helping him?"

"I don't know," Dan replied. "Honestly, Abby, I can't remember. I can remember watching him work, I can remember asking if I could help. I can remember sanding corners for him but I really can't remember if it happened all the time, or if it was only one night."

"How do you remember feeling? When you helped him, what are the feelings attached to that memory?"

"Pride, I guess. I was proud to help him." Abby stayed quiet as Dan thought. "Happy. Lucky because I got to help. Special because I was the only one helping him."

"David didn't?"

"I can't remember him being there." Dan bit his lip, trying to make the hazy scenes in his head clearer. All he could remember was the rough, biting feel of the sandpaper in his hand, the pale sprinkling of sawdust that stuck on his sweater, the huge shadow of his father hunched over (a drawer? A desk? He really wasn't sure) whistling something as he drew on it in pencil.

"David works at your father's stores, right?"

"Technically, I think he's a partner," Dan replied. "He's always been into woodwork more than I have."

"But he wasn't there?"

Dan shrugged. "I remember it as me and Dad. But he was probably there. Why?"

"Curiosity." Abby rested her pen in her lap. "I was trying to find a context for your feelings."

"A context, huh?"

"An added level of meaning."

Dan narrowed his eyes. There were times when having someone pay close attention to you was great; he was never quite sure if therapy was one of those times. "Would it have meant less or more if I'd felt important with David around?"

"You felt important?"

"Helping Dad?" Dan asked, and Abby nodded. "Yeah, I felt important."

"Loved?"

"Definitely loved," Dan said, nodding slowly. "I don't know why I didn't say that first."

"Because you're scared that if you describe yourself as feeling loved then, you'll have to admit you don't feel loved now?"

"I think it's because I'm used to coming up with synonyms for 'great' and 'victory'. I'm a little more on-the-spot when it comes to describing childhood emotions." Dan carefully uncrossed his arms. "And please don't read anything into the word 'childhood' in that sentence."

Abby dropped her pen. She bent down to pick it up. "You get that you're being very defensive about this, right?"

"Yeah." Dan swallowed; the word left a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

"Okay."

"Is there any possibility I can go now?"

"Halfway through a session?"

"Yeah."

Abby said kindly, "That's not the way it works."

Dan sighed. "I thought not."

"You want to tell me about Casey now?"

"You want to be a little more specific?"

"Tell me about the panic attack."

Dan stretched his arm along the back of the couch. "You want to be a little more specific about anything other than that?"

Abby froze, squinting at the wall in mock-concentration. "No."

"You know, I went back to work yesterday," Dan tried gamely. "You could ask me how that went."

"Can I guess?"

Dan felt his eyebrows jump a foot. "How yesterday went with Casey?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"You both talked about work, neither of you mentioned Connecticut whatsoever and you don't see the need to talk to me about it. Am I right?"

"Scarily so."

"So take it on trust that I'm right and you need to talk to me about it."

Dan grinned. "Damn you and your logic. Didn't anyone tell you not to use that to win arguments?"

"Dan, quit stalling. Quit trying to amuse me, quit trying to get me off topic." Abby leaned back in the armchair. She didn't sound annoyed or amused; she sounded unsurprised. "Tell me what happened."

"You know how I keep trying to avoid telling you what happened?" Dan asked, and waited for Abby to nod. "Do you get the impression I don't want to tell you what happened?"

"You need to tell me," she said gently, "whether you want to or not. I think you know that."

"Why? Why would I need to tell you?"

"Because Casey used to be your friend."

"Casey still is my friend," Dan shot back. "Things have been weird lately, but he's still my friend."

"Things have been weird?"

"It'll settle down. It always does."

Abby raised an eyebrow.

"It's not a big deal."

"Sleeping with him isn't a big deal?"

"We didn't--" Dan stopped, swallowing quickly. "I mean, technically, we didn't."

Abby barely even paused. "How do you feel about Casey?"

"He's my best friend."

"How do you feel about him?"

"He's my--"

"Dan, it's nice that he's your friend," she said pointedly, "but that phrase isn't an umbrella. Repeating it won't stop the rain and it won't keep you dry."

"Meaning?"

"The fact that he's your friend doesn't negate how you feel about him. It won't stop you from being jealous, or angry, or anything else. It won't make your other feelings disappear."

"I never claimed it did!" Dan's voice was hard and low; he shoved his hands in his pockets and breathed deeply before he spoke again. "I'm not hiding, Abby."

"You are, but that's beside the point." Abby stood up and went over to her desk. He didn't want to know why it was more reassuring to have her sitting behind it.

"What is the point?"

"The point is how you feel about Casey. You keep saying you're his friend, but you won't say how you feel." There was something comforting about the distance between the desk and the couch, Dan noticed as Abby picked up a pen. "Do you like him?"

"Of course I like him."

"Do you love him?"

"Abby, he's my best--"

"Are you in love with him?"

"No."

She didn't stop. "Are you attracted to him?"

"No," Dan said, shaking his head hard.

"You're not attracted to him? You slept with him, but you're not attracted to him?"

"He's not my type. Trust me, it's a non-issue. He's just not."

"Huh," Abby said softly. She sat very still for a moment, watching him, and then she jotted something down on her notepad.

"What?"

"If that's how you feel," she said, without looking up, "you're not a very good friend."

"Excuse me?"

Abby crossed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. "You're not a very good friend. You're a likeable person, but not a particularly nice friend."

And now he was standing up, arms crossed in front of him, and he didn't care how defensive he looked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You kissed him, you technically didn't sleep with him, and you're not interested in him at all, right? It was just a momentary thing to help you pass the time?"

"I did some stupid things. Casey will understand that I--" Dan blinked and tried again. "I did some stupid things. I'll apologize and Casey'll understand."

"Which would be fine."

"Except?" Dan asked, because he could hear it coming.

"Except you didn't do stupid things. You weren't the only one to start it. Casey made a move towards you, Casey got the ball rolling. How can you apologize and take responsibility for something Casey did?"

"He wouldn't have done it if I hadn't kissed him in the first place."

Abby shrugged. "Possibly."

"Definitely."

"But you kissed him, and then you nearly slept with him, and then you're going to apologize to him? How is Casey going to think of this?"

"He's going to think I'm a nutjob!" Dan said with a wild flail of his arm. He stared at the wall as he calmed himself down -- it really did look very peach-colored today – and then sat down carefully on the couch. "He really wouldn't be too wrong."

"Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Dan dragged a deep breath in and pressed his fingertips against his closed eyelids. "I panicked."

"Okay."

"And nothing sets the mood so much as having someone completely freak out," Dan said. His elbows were poking into his knees, but he didn't move his hands away from his face. "It was going pretty well until then, and then I just... couldn't do it."

"What happened?"

"Okay, so we kissed--"

"He kissed you," Abby corrected quietly.

"We kissed," Dan repeated, "and something sparked. It was hungry and desperate, like a really good one night stand, and then. I was kissing Casey and pulling off his clothes, and I had to get him naked."

"What was Casey doing?"

"He was..." Dan paused, rubbing his face hard, and then he leaned his chin on his hands. "Doing the same. Unbuttoning and kissing, and--" He stopped, suddenly remembering the feeling of Casey's wide hands sliding under his t-shirt, pulling it up and off. "I was into it, you know? I wanted Casey so badly, and then--"

"Then?"

"You've got to get that, mentally, I wanted him. So badly. But physically?" Dan winced a little, more from masculine pride than anything else. "Not so much."

"You weren't up for the occasion?"

Dan didn't mean to, but he groaned. "I did not sign on for the bad sexual puns."

"Sorry," Abby said, and she almost looked repentant. "But I'm right, right?"

"I'd spent days around my family and hours in that hospital, so I wasn't at my peak physical condition. But, yeah, you're right. Not that I wasn't having a good time, just that it wasn't going to happen."

"So what did happen?"

"I pushed Casey away. More accurately, I rolled him over and--" Dan stopped, searching for a polite way to describe the taste and smell of Casey's cock in his mouth, but he came up blank. "You know, I'm trying to think of a nice euphemism here, but I really can't."

Abby waved her hand. "Forget the euphemisms. They only tend to vague-up the descriptions."

"I blew him," Dan blurted out. Abby didn't blush, or look surprised, or change her expression at all. It wasn't what he'd expected. "Or I was in the process of blowing him when I... freaked."

"You panicked?"

"And the stupid thing was that there was no need for it. No reason for it. It's not, you know, something I've never done before. It's something I have a bit of skill at. Something I generally enjoy. But, suddenly, I choked."

"Literally?" Abby asked.

"Metaphorically."

"Oh."

"It was suddenly too much. Too Casey, too naked, too-- I don't even know. It was just too much and I had to get out of there." Dan shook his head a little. "It was going fine, more than fine, and then... it wasn't."

  


* * *

  
Casey had the type of body Dan had always imagined. Well-developed arms led to surprisingly broad shoulders. His long lean muscles and strong, curved lines usually hid under shirts and suits -- but like this, stretched naked across the bed, Casey was impossible to miss.

Even so, Dan kept stealing glances as he trailed his mouth over the soft skin of Casey's stomach. He kept looking up, studying the way Casey flexed and twisted as he worked his way down, the way Casey scrunched his eyes closed and clenched his jaw.

Casey groaned -- low, in the back of his throat -- and that was something Dan had never imagined. He'd guessed that Casey was a talker in bed, that the constant stream of words would get a little less coherent, but as it turned out, not so much. Casey didn't talk. He groaned and grunted -- and when Dan ran his tongue over the tip of Casey's cock, he gasped -- but actual words never appeared.

It became a challenge to try to make Casey talk. Dan kept it light and teasing: Casey arched and groaned. Dan sucked the head into his mouth, lightly flicking his tongue against the slit but Casey only grunted, tightening his hold on the back of Dan's head. Swallowing, and carefully trying not to drool, Dan took Casey's cock deeper, bobbed his head back and forth -- and felt a little like one of those perpetual motion drinking birds that always amused Dana -- but Casey just got quieter, huffing and gulping breaths like he was running the New York Marathon.

Dan could feel Casey's thighs tightening under his hands, could feel Casey's grip on his scalp getting painful, could taste the way Casey was getting closer and closer, and then-- It was too much. It was all too much. His heart was thundering and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't *breathe*. He pulled off and pushed Casey's hand away from him -- couldn't be touched, too much, and he needed to get out, he needed to breathe -- and scrambled back and away, and off the bed.

He didn't look at the bed because Casey was there and Casey was too naked and this was too much and. And he had to breathe. And find his clothes. And get out. Get out of this room, get out of here, get outside where he could breathe. His t-shirt -- where was it, where was it -- over there, on the floor; he picked it up and pulled it on. Then his pants -- he was wearing boxers but he needed his pants. His heart was pounding and his fingers were sweaty and he only noticed because his fingers almost slipped on the zipper.

"Danny?"

And he needed his shoes. He needed his shoes now. Right now.

"Danny?"

He didn't know where they were.

"Danny!" Casey said, grabbing his arm, stopping him from finding his shoes, from getting outside. "What is it?"

"I need my shoes," Dan said, scanning the floor -- not looking up in case Casey was still naked, because if Casey was still naked, then it would all be too much, and he needed to get out of here, he needed to breathe -- but he couldn't see his shoes. "I can't go out without my shoes."

"Danny?" Casey asked again, not letting go, still holding him. "They'll be here. It's okay."

Dan spun around, pushing Casey back, but his hand met fabric -- not skin, not naked skin, not naked Casey -- so he looked up. Casey was wearing his polo shirt and his jeans. It made Dan's chest loosen, enough to breathe, enough to speak. "I need to get out of here. I can't breathe. I need-- I can't-- I've got to get out of here. Now."

"Okay," Casey said calmly. He nodded towards the bed. "Sit."

Dan shook his head, stepping away from the bed, because he couldn't -- it was too much, far too much, and he had to get out of here, had to go -- and tried to explain, "No, I can't, I need my shoes. I need to get out."

"Danny, sit." This time, Casey's voice was harder, sharper, and for a moment it cut through the cloying panic. "Sit down. I'll get your shoes. I'll get your jacket. Then you can put them on."

Dan sat down.

  


* * *

  
"Danny? I hate to interrupt you, but our time's up."

Dan blinked. "It is?"

"It is." Abby pointed at the clock sitting on her desk. "And I've got another appointment now, so..."

"So I need to clear the room so you can talk to someone else whose marbles are cracked and/or missing."

"We'll have to continue this next week."

  


* * *

  


"So where were we?" Abby asked as Dan settled himself on her couch.

"In the middle of my most embarrassing sex story yet?"

"That's your most embarrassing sex story?"

Dan stretched back on the couch. "I'd like to see you beat it."

"What about getting caught naked, in your parents' bed, when you were seventeen?" Abby asked, with a small twinkle in her eye. "Don't you think that rates higher on the embarrassment scale?"

Dan tried not to smirk but he didn't succeed. He did manage not to laugh, though. "Seventeen?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, that's much worse."

"Thank you." Abby rolled her eyes. "Now tell me the end of your tale."

"I told you that I freaked out, right?"

"And Casey got you to sit down."

"Yeah." Dan nodded. "He got me to sit, and stop, and it helped. Not as much as getting out of the room, but it helped."

"He got you out of the room?"

"Yeah. But first, he got me my shoes."

  


* * *

  
"You have clean socks somewhere, right?" Casey called out as he rummaged through the top drawer beside the bed.

"Um, yeah," Dan said slowly, pulling his jacket on. When he turned his head, Casey was watching him. "What?"

Casey raised his brows. "Where are they?"

"Oh. Um." Dan blinked, rubbing at his forehead. He knew this, he did. He just needed to stop and think. "Second drawer."

Dan heard the slide of the hotel's wooden drawers and then Casey called out, "Got 'em!" like it was a treasure hunt, like it was fun, like having his best friend completely freak out was such an everyday occurrence it wasn't worth mentioning.

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it wasn't worth anything.

Dan looked up and found Casey was standing in front of him, holding out a rolled up pair of red and blue striped socks. Dan couldn't remember buying those, but if they were in his drawer, they must have been his.

"First socks," Casey said, pressing them into his hand, "then shoes." Casey put his sneakers on the bed, right beside Dan. Dan found himself staring at the shoes, at the once-white-now-gray leather, at the ratty plastic ends of the shoelaces, at the blue 'Adidas' stitched into the side. He'd had them for years. He kept meaning to replace them but never got around to it. He really should do that sometime.

"Danny?" Casey asked carefully, in that tone that meant worry and concern. He hated hearing Casey talk to him like that; he was also grateful for it.

"I'm getting there," Dan replied, pulling the socks apart and putting them on. "I'm just... feeling like a bit of an idiot."

"That's okay," Casey said, just a little too quickly.

"Yeah?" Dan tugged hard at the sneakers, pulling them open forcefully. "Why is it okay?"

"I've known you for eleven years. By now, I think you'd be used to feeling like an idiot." A surprised chuckle escaped Dan, more a huff than anything else, but Casey beamed at him like he'd just won the Pulitzer Prize. "It'll be okay, Danny."

"I'm sorry, okay? I just--" Dan paused, tying the last shoelace. "I don't even know. It's not my usual reaction to one night stands, it's just... I don't even know."

"It's okay." Casey nodded. Then he jerked his head to the side. It reminded Dan of a turkey. "Come on."

"What the hell was that?"

Casey's eyes widened. "What?"

"That thing you did with your neck," Dan said, standing up. "Did you just pull something? It looked painful."

"I was gesturing towards the door. It was a 'come, follow me' gesture."

"Dana's told you not to do that, hasn't she?"

Casey shrugged. "Maybe."

"Then maybe you shouldn't do it," Dan said, picking up his room key. "It's not an understandable gesture."

"This from the guy who thinks rubbing his stomach means Tutti Frutti."

Dan rolled his eyes, and walked out. "That was Yehudi Menuhin, you big idiot."

"Whatever," Casey said, and closed the hotel room door behind them.

  


* * *

  
"You went out?"

"We went for a walk."

"Casey came?"

"Hence the 'we' part of 'we went for a walk'," Dan replied.

"Did you talk?"

"Not really."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "You went walking, in the middle of the night, in Connecticut, but you didn't talk?"

Dan snorted. "Being in Connecticut doesn't mean you'll talk. Trust me, my entire family lives in Connecticut."

"You know what I mean."

"We didn't talk. We just walked for, like, an hour. Walked through these really quiet, suburban streets at three in the morning, and really didn't say anything. Casey was just there, and quiet, and not asking any really embarrassing questions, and it was... comforting, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Abby leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her lap. "So what happened when you got back to the hotel?"

"I went to my room, and Casey went to his. It was odd."

"Why?"

Dan rubbed a hand across his face, and crossed one ankle over his knee. "I don't know. It's not like I was expecting him to come back to my room afterwards, but... I don't know. Worst one night stand ever, I guess."

"And it was definitely a one night stand?"

"Abby," Dan scoffed, "technically, it was barely a one hour stand."

"I mean, it was only a one night thing? There was no potential for it to be more?"

"Let's see." Dan ran a hand through his hair. "One guy freaks about his father dying, seduces his -- let's not forget, straight -- best friend, and then freaks out during sex. It's not exactly the plot to The Best Romance Novel of All Time."

"Could be. Some of them have very strange plots."

Dan frowned at her and pointed at the lower shelf of paperbacks. "You don't really read them, right? Tell me I'm not being advised by someone who reads romance novels."

"Dan?"

He grinned. "Yeah?"

"Get back to the topic."

"What's the topic?"

"The topic is why you automatically assume your relationship with Casey could never be more than friends. The topic is why the idea of Casey being interested in you terrifies you."

"It doesn't terrify me, Abby. It's just so blatantly insane that even I know it's doomed to failure."

"And that's what you think?" Abby asked calmly. "When you stop and think about you and Casey, you absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, *know* that it's doomed?"

"He's straight. I'm really not interested. Those aren't good foundations for a relationship."

"How do you know he's straight?"

Dan stretched his legs out in front of him. "Because he is. I've seen the women he dates. There's no doubt that he's into them."

"Unlike the women you date?"

Dan felt his heckles rise. "Completely different."

"And it's absolutely impossible that he'd be into you?"

"Absolutely."

"Even though he kissed you? Even though he was the one to start it in Connecticut?"

"And didn't that end well," Dan said sarcastically. "Abby, look at what happened in Connecticut. If that isn't sure proof that Casey and I should just be friends, I don't know what is."

"Connecticut is proof that dealing with a death in the family can screw with your head. What happened in Connecticut is proof that you can't ignore how you feel, Dan. You can't go ahead, play the part, do the actions, and tell yourself that you don't feel how you feel. Life doesn't work like that." Abby paused and then leaned her hands on the desk. "He kissed you. That has to mean something."

"It means that kissing him in the first place screwed with his head," Dan shot back quickly. "It probably means that I was acting really strangely and giving out weird signals. It doesn't mean--"

"That he cares about you? That he's attracted to you?"

"It doesn't mean that, Abby." Dan took a deep breath. There was no point letting her rile him up about this. Obviously someone who didn't know Casey couldn't understand how this worked. "It doesn't mean that. I don't know what it does mean but, you know, give Casey a couple of weeks and he'll sort it out himself."

"You're sure of that?"

"I'd bet my life on it," Dan said quietly.

"That's a pretty high bet to make."

Dan sighed. "Don't overanalyze it. It's a phrase, a cliché, a few words strung together. It doesn't necessarily mean anything."

Abby shook her head. "That's what you pay me for. I'm here to analyze what you say, to look for the meaning behind your words. I'd be a bad therapist if I didn't."

"Then why don't you analyze it and tell me what my problem is?" Dan asked and even saying the words made him feel tired. "If you're such a good therapist -- if you're half as good as you claim -- why can't you tell me what's wrong with me? Why can't you just tell me why I keep acting in ways that make Dana look like Miss Sensible 'n' Sane?"

"Because if you're not ready to hear the answer, it won't help you. You won't believe it," Abby said. She pulled her red cardigan tight and did up a few buttons. When she looked up, here eyes were sharp as needles. "You'll just deny it, or refuse to listen to it, and that's a waste of my time and yours."

"Try me."

Abby leaned back, watching him carefully. "You sure?"

"According to you I've got more mental problems than you could throw a stick at, so let's hear it." Dan held up his hands, gesturing at her to bring it on. "Start with the big problems, then work your way down the list. I want to see the so-called expertise I'm paying for."

"I'll ignore the rudeness of that statement," Abby said sharply.

"It's one of my many problems."

"But you know what your biggest problem is?" Abby asked and Dan half-shrugged. "You're terrified."

"Aren't we all?" Dan peevishly glared at the scuffed heel of his shoe. "Stating the obvious is not insightful, Abby."

"You're terrified that your father will die. You're terrified that he'll be gone, and there'll be no one left to remind you of who you are. That you won't have anyone to bring you back down to earth, to ground you; to remind you that you're not a success, you're not a source of pride. To remind you that you're just a schmuck. A jerk. A screw-up. That you couldn't do anything right if you tried."

Dan could feel that prickling at the back of his eyeballs, could feel his annoyance and anger sliding into something softer, something less protective. "That's just his opinion," he managed to say.

"But he's right, isn't he? The only thing you do right is sit on the other side of a camera, as far away from people as possible. If it's something personal, if it's something that requires you to reveal a little bit of yourself, to share who you are, you're going to fail. You're going to screw it up, ruin it in every possible way." Abby almost smiled at him and for a moment, he hated her more than he'd ever hated his father; for just a second, he hated her almost as much as he hated himself. "Because that's who you are, isn't it, Danny? A monumental screw-up. An embarrassment to your family, a danger to your friends. You know that whatever you do, it's going to be wrong, and people are going to get hurt. And too often, it won't be you."

He curled his shoulders down, folding into himself as much as he could. He didn't want her to see that she'd struck such a nerve, didn't want anyone to see him that clearly, but he felt helpless to stop it.

"I'm right, aren't I?" she prompted cruelly. "That's who you are."

He gulped in a breath, feeling scratched raw, a carcass left open for the carrion. Abby kept watching him, eyeing him like a vulture circling overhead, waiting for some sign of life. "So?"

She raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So," Dan said, and then swallowed. "What if I am?"

"So maybe you should stop punishing Casey for it."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"You're pushing him away, hurting him, making him angry at you, because you're frightened. You're terrified that if your father wasn't around to reinforce how worthless and useless you are, you might forget. You might start to believe the other people who care about you, you might start to believe that you're worth knowing. That you're capable of having a close relationship with someone without hurting and destroying them."

"I'm not frightened of that," Dan protested hollowly.

"You're terrified that that will happen, because if it does, you won't have your guard up to protect yourself. You'll have to live knowing that you destroyed someone else you care about. You think you need Casey to keep you… who you are."

"That's not true," Dan said quietly. When he repeated it, his voice was more certain. "It's not."

"No?"

"I know it's not," Dan said, and this time, he sounded sure.

"Dan?" Abby asked quietly.

"What?"

"Why isn't it true?"

"Huh?"

Abby smiled, and he wondered what she thought he'd done right. "Tell me why it isn't true."

"Because I don't hurt everyone that I care about. I've made mistakes, but I haven't--" Dan slapped his open hand against the coffee table. The sound was violently loud. "It's not like everyone who's ever known me has been doomed. I've hurt some people, yes, but it was from stupidity and ignorance and anger, the same reasons anyone hurts anyone else. It's not like it's something that's inherent to my personality. But I'm human, and sometimes people get hurt."

"But when it comes to personal relationships, you're going to fail, right? You know you're going to crash and burn, and hurt whoever you're involved with, aren't you?"

"No-one is a magnet for pain and failure like that. And I'm not a failure, I'm just not as successful as I could be at some things. Personal things, sure, but--" The little light upstairs went on and Dan realized what was happening. "That's your point, isn't it? That even though it feels true, I know it's not."

Abby nodded and shot him a proud grin. "You're a smart guy, Dan. It takes most people a lot longer to figure that out."

"Well, I've been hiding from it for a while. You'd think that would give me some advantage."

"Feelings aren't based on fact. Just because it feels true doesn't mean it is. Sometimes, people prefer to keep the emotions. They'd rather feel bad than work through it, and acknowledge the truth."

"Why?"

"Because the truth is frightening. Because the truth can be callous and random and harsh. Because facing the truth means that you admit that sometimes you aren't in control, that life happens with or without your consent. And sometimes it means you need to acknowledge that the people you love aren't the type of people you want them to be."

The leather of the couch was cool under his hand. (His palm still smarted.) Dan ran his fingers along the armrest as he thought. "So you're saying that we prefer keeping our delusions and feel bad, than face the scary and unknown?"

"That's what I'm saying." Abby glanced over at her clock. "And I'm also saying it's time for you to leave."

Dan paused at the doorway. "Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I actually make progress today, or does it just feel like I made progress?"

"Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"You're doing fine. And I'll see you next week."

  


* * *

  


"How's Casey been?"

That was the first thing Abby asked him in their next session. Right out of the blue -- "How's Casey been?" -- and Dan replied before he even thought about it. "Annoying."

Abby smiled. "Really?"

"He keeps doing this thing, Abby, this thing where he looks like he's about to say something, and then he doesn't. It's unnerving."

"Unnerving? That he's not speaking?"

"He's speaking, but he's not saying whatever he's thinking of saying, he's saying something else."

"And you know this because..."

"I've worked with the man for the better part of a decade," Dan said, sitting forward. "I know the expression he gets when he wants to say something, but knows that he shouldn't because if he says it on-air, Dana's going to kick his ass. He keeps getting that expression."

"Like he wants to say something but he knows that he shouldn't?"

Dan nodded. "Or like there's something to say, but he doesn't want to be the one to say it."

Abby looked a little confused, but she went with it. "Okay."

"So I called him on it." Dan furrowed his eyebrows. "And, seriously, there's a chance Casey's been replaced by pod people. I'm just saying."

Abby blinked, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

"See, that there?" Dan asked, pointing at her. "That is what Casey keeps doing!"

Abby breathed through her nose and then said, "Why do you think Casey's been taken over by aliens?"

"Because Casey said something very un-Casey-like. It goes against the whole essence of Casey. It's completely devoid of Caseyness."

"I think I'm going to regret asking this," Abby said slowly, "but... Caseyness?"

"Casey is..." Dan rolled his hands in small circles, searching for the words. "Casey. He's a multi-lingual, technophobic, conversationally anal-retentive weather nerd. He can spot an incomplete clause at a hundred paces, but can't approach a girl at a bar. He's Casey."

"And this is the same Casey who's completely straight and not at all interested in you, right?"

"Exactly."

"Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there a reason your definitions of Casey always come back to him being straight?"

"Because he is."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Except for when he's being a pod person." Dan flicked his hands out to the side. "And I can't tell you how much that's weirding me out."

"How about instead of talking around it, you tell me what happened?"

"Just, you know, don't blame me when you have nightmares about waking up with an alien inside your head."

Abby raised her right hand. "If I have nightmares, I promise not to blame you. Happy?"

Dan shrugged. "As happy as I can be while Casey's still a pod person."

"What happened?"

"He was being strange -- again -- doing the whole not-talking thing so I cornered him after the show and asked him what was wrong."

Abby raised her eyebrows. "What was wrong?"

Palms to the ceiling, Dan held his hands up. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"Stop avoiding it, Dan."

"Fine," Dan said, knowing that he couldn't convince Abby not to chase this. "I asked him what was wrong, he said it was about what happened in Connecticut, and then I said that it didn't matter because that wasn't important."

"And?"

"Casey said that he knew that." Dan frowned. "It was the way he said it. Like he was watching the Timberwolves, like he didn't need to see the end of the game to know his team had lost. That should have been my tip-off that something was wrong."

  


* * *

  
"I know it wasn't important, Danny. It was just that I thought," Casey stopped and sighed. He tugged at his shirt collar, pulling the top button undone. "I found out about your dad, and I reacted badly, and then you kissed me. I just… jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"Jumped to the wrong conclusion?"

"Jumped, leaped, strapped on a jetpack and took a wrong turn at Mars. Whatever." Casey shrugged and pulled his jacket off their coat rack. "I was still completely wrong and it still doesn't matter."

"Uh-uh," Dan said, setting his back to the open door. "You can't keep doing this thing, where you almost say something but don't. Either you need to say something or you don't. One or the other."

The black leather of Casey's jacket hung loosely over his arm. "I don't."

"Yes, you do," Dan replied, "or else you wouldn't keep starting to say it."

"Danny, don't."

Dan waited while Casey pulled on his jacket. Then he closed the door. "Do I need to apologize again?"

Casey's hair was getting too long: it brushed the collar of his jacket as he shook his head from side to side. "No, Danny, it's not--"

"Because I am sorry. You know that, right?"

"It's not that, okay? I get that." Casey wet his lips. Then he lifted his chin, making his head look more rectangular than usual. "You were going through a hard time, and…"

"And what?"

"And you were reaching out for support in any way you could. I get that."

That wasn't true. Dan knew it: he hadn't wanted support from Casey. He'd got it, but that wasn't what he'd expected. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to use you."

Casey laughed gruffly. "I know. For a while I thought, well, I thought... And then I realized, you know?" Casey shrugged as if that explained it, but it really didn't.

"Realized what?"

"That you didn't know."

"Didn't know?"

"You kissed me that morning and I thought that you knew. I thought it was a sign to come and get you. Then I came up to Connecticut and I realized... it wasn't. You didn't know at all. It was just a right place, wrong person kind of thing."

Dan scowled at the lack of information. "Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"You still haven't told me what you realized that I didn't know."

Casey ducked his head and looked over at the window. There was a soft wistfulness in Casey's brown eyes but it shifted into something harder as he swallowed. "That I'm a little bit in love with you?"

"A little bit?"

"Like, a lot."

"Oh," Dan said. It seemed like the thing to say.

"Yeah, I know." Casey's smile was glass: sharp and easy to see through. "It's awkward, ridiculous. I should have learned my lesson about inter-office dating from Sally and Dana. Not practical. Not a good idea."

"Yeah," Dan said doubtfully, "it's a bad idea because of inter-office dating."

Casey gave a tiny flinch. "It doesn't make sense anyway."

"It really doesn't." Dan couldn't shake the feeling that there was a chance that Casey actually had two heads. There had to be a less alien explanation than Casey being in love with him.

"Okay, Danny, I know that." Another glassy smile from Casey. "And I wouldn't, I mean, I won't again--"

"We don't have to talk about it," he assured Casey quickly. This level of weirdness was straight out of the Twilight Zone. "We really don't."

"Good," Casey said with a nod. Those windowpane smiles made the knot between Dan's shoulders ache. "Good. Well."

"Well, that's that, right?"

"Yeah."

"And I'll see you tomorrow?" Dan asked, and hoped it sounded more relaxed than he felt.

"I've got tomorrow off."

"Then the day after?"

"Yeah." Casey opened the door. "I'll see you then."

  


* * *

  
"So there's a chance Casey's in love with you?" Abby asked gently.

"There's a chance I'll win the Readers' Digest Sweepstake." Dan snorted. "Frankly, I think I've got better odds at winning the novelty-sized check."

Abby laid her arm down on the desk. The pen in her hand clattered against the hard surface. "He said he was in love with you. How about you take him at his word?"

"We have stressful jobs, stressful lives," Dan said, tapping his hand against the armrest of the couch. "What's the chance Casey's suffering a complete psychotic break?"

"Dan," Abby said quietly.

"I know how these things work. I saw 'Nurse Betty'. Casey could have been sitting around, reading through fan mail to me, and just snapped." Sitting up straight, Dan snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

"*Dan*," Abby said, her voice like a vise. "Don't waste my time."

Dan slouched against the couch. He felt like a piece of paper that had accidentally gone through the wash: crumpled and faded; the letters all worn out and impossible to read. "It makes no sense."

"Why not? Why are you fighting this so hard?"

"I'm not fighting this," Dan said, and then watched Abby's dusk-pink lips purse. "I'm not."

"You can't even entertain the theory that Casey could be attracted to you. You can't even think about it hypothetically. Whenever I bring it up, you flat-out refuse to consider it."

Dan shook his head a little and reached for a candy. "No, I don't." He shoved the sweet into his mouth and chewed, but he couldn't taste it.

"Why? Why is it so hard to believe? Why is it so impossible that--"

Dan surged forward, cutting her off harshly. "Because it is, Abby! It's impossible. It's not right and it's not normal and… God, it's Casey, okay? This isn't..."

"What?"

"This isn't some girl in a bar, it's Casey. It's serious. I wasn't kissing him for comfort or support, I just wanted to give him a reason to leave me alone." Pushing himself back against the cushions, Dan let the truth seep out. "I didn't want him to be there. I didn't really want him to like me, I guess."

"It's serious?"

"What?"

"You said that it's Casey, that it's serious." Abby tilted her head to the side, and strands of dark brown hair fell across her eyes. "What did you mean?"

"I meant that it's Casey." Dan shrugged. "Casey doesn't date."

"He sees women all the time."

"He sees women frequently, but he isn't dating them. He's searching for the future Mrs McCall." Dan wiped his hands on his jeans: the worn denim was soft against his palms. "Casey doesn't date for the fun of it or to get to know someone. He does it seriously. Every new girl is something serious for him."

"So if you dated him, it would be serious?"

"If I..." Dan shook his head.

"Hypothetically," Abby added quickly.

His first instinct was to say it would never happen. Never; not in a million years. He forced himself to think beyond that, to scale over the wall inside his head. "Casey doesn't date frivolously. It would mean a lot to him."

"And?"

Dan swallowed. "And I'm scared it wouldn't mean as much to me."

"Wrong." Abby didn't look away from him. "Try again."

"I'm scared..." Dan drank in a heavy breath and when he thought of his worst nightmares, he knew what he was hiding from. "It would be serious for Casey. And if it didn't work, it would change everything. I'm scared that I'll hurt him and my entire world will crumble. That week after Draft Day nearly killed me, Abby. I couldn't face that again."

"You could." Abby said it so calmly, so confidently, that he almost believed her. "It would hurt, and you'd feel bad, but losing Casey wouldn't destroy you. It wouldn't come close."

"It doesn't feel that way," Dan said. Abby raised her brows until they cut a curious line across her forehead. "Yeah, I get it. This is more of the 'feelings aren't always true' thing."

"Yeah, it is."

"But you need to understand that this is the guy who got me."

"Meaning?"

"When I was in college, in Boston, in Dallas, in New York, he was the guy who got me. He was the one person that didn't make me feel like I had to constantly pretend to be someone else, someone better. He made me feel like I didn't have to hide and camouflage myself."

"But you still did, right?"

"Yeah, but," Dan shook his head, "when I was honest, Casey never shied away. He never acted like I was some kind of emotional leper. Hell, he encouraged me to buy a boat he hated standing in."

Pushing her hair away from her eyes, Abby asked, "A boat?"

"When we first went to New York. We'd just started Sports Night, and we were fairly sure we wouldn't be fired, so I decided to buy a boat."

"How does this relate to Casey?"

Dan smiled, remembering the breeze against his skin and the glare of the sunlight reflecting off the water. "Casey gets seasick and, despite that, he came with me because I wanted to buy a boat."

  


* * *

  
"Look at the horizon," Dan said, pointing at the line of blue-on-blue.

"I prefer to look at the bits of the horizon that have land, Danny." Casey looked a little green. How anyone could get seasick standing on a docked boat was beyond Dan. "The bits that don't move."

"The horizon doesn't move."

"The bits in front of that horizon do," Casey said firmly. "I am here as a show of support. I encourage you to buy this boat. I hope you spend many happy hours on this boat. But right now, I want to get off this boat."

"Just give it a minute, okay?" Dan rolled his eyes. "I wanted to show you this."

"As I said before," Casey waved a hand towards the decking, "I have seen the boat."

"Haven't you ever wanted to go sailing?" Dan turned back towards the ocean. He leaned forward on the railing, breathing in salt and seaweed. "To just take a boat and get away from it all?"

"No."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't be getting away from it all," Casey said, his hand clawing around the painted railing as the boat moved slightly. "It would be my lunch getting away."

"You should try it sometime."

"Dan, I'm not riding the ferry with you." Casey was almost as pale as his J Crew shirt, but he still managed to smile -- or grimace -- at Dan's ongoing campaign to make him ride the Staten Island Ferry.

"That's not sailing. That's mass transportation." Dan shrugged, staring out at the swaying surface. "The sailing thing, it's... it's hard to imagine, Casey, but it's wonderful. There is nothing like the feeling of standing on board, of looking out and around you, and seeing nothing but water."

Casey grimaced. "Sounds nauseating."

"No. It's incredible. Just... incredible. You look around you," Dan said softly, "and it's vast, it's majestic. It's overwhelming. In every direction, there's ocean and sky. There's the world. And it's so much bigger and more amazing than you've ever imagined."

"Yeah?"

Dan nodded. "There's this amazing sense of perspective. Of being this tiny, insignificant creature surrounded by wonders. Of being alone, away from people and cities and everything that seems important. And you're alone, but you're part of it, you know? You're part of this whole thing, this huge, amazing thing, this planet that's full of life and full of magic, and..."

He didn't look over at Casey, but the gentle pause between them glowed. "And?"

"And it fills you up, you know? It fills you up, like faith did as a kid, like stepping into temple and knowing God was listening. And you feel complete. Alone and complete, and you know that despite your flaws, regardless of all the things that you regret, all the things that hurt, it's okay. Because you're part of this." Dan took in a sharp breath and pushed himself off the railing. "And that probably sounded like the worst dime-store novel ever printed."

"No." Casey shook his head. "It sounded... heartfelt."

"Yeah, well. Let's get you off this before you really do hurl," Dan said, walking back to the pier. "I'll call the guy this afternoon."

"For what it's worth," Casey said with a shrug, "I think you should buy it."

"Yeah?"

"And then take me sailing." Dan raised an eyebrow and stared at Casey until he amended, "If I ever find seasickness tablets that work."

  


* * *

  
"Casey got it. He didn't need to bring it up again and he didn't make me feel stupid for talking like that. He got it."

"Do you think he gets it now?"

Dan rubbed at his chin. "No."

"Do you think you should talk to him about it?" Abby asked, as if she hadn't been pushing at him to talk to Casey for weeks. "You could explain your reasons. Tell him why you're scared."

"There's no need."

"I thought you said he was still doing that not-speaking thing?" Abby narrowed her eyes, her lashes forming dark stripes above and below her brown eyes. "If he's still doing that, I'd say you have something to talk about."

"He's doing it less. And the rest of the conversations are going back to normal." Dan wished he didn't sound so desperate. "It'll go back to normal."

"Dan..."

"It will," he repeated earnestly. He carefully ignored the fact that it had already been weeks -- four weeks precisely -- since that first reckless kiss.

"It might." Abby breathed in slowly. "But I don't think you'll get this opportunity again."

"This opportunity?" Dan scoffed. "This opportunity to screw up the best friendship I've ever had? I'd be glad to never get that opportunity again."

"Well, in a little while, when you've figured out some of your other problems, you might not be."

"The day I figure out my other problems? I'll be expecting snow in June." Glancing at his watch, Dan stood up. "I need to get back to the studio."

Abby nodded. When he got to the doorway, she said, "It has happened, you know."

"What?"

"It's snowed in June."

"In New York?"

"In 1816. It was known as 'The Year There Was No Summer'."

"Huh." Dan pulled the zipper on his sweatshirt up. "Casey would have known that."

  


* * *

  


He pushed Abby's door open and gave her a half-hearted nod as he sat down on the couch.

"Everything okay?" Abby leaned forward. He absently noticed that she was wearing a light green sweater that really didn't suit her complexion.

"Yeah." He rubbed his hand across his chin, and made a mental note to shave as soon as he got back to the office. "Yeah."

"You don't sound so sure."

"I'm okay. Or I will be," he added, shifting on the couch, "when everything settles down in my head."

"What happened?" When Dan didn't reply, Abby asked, "Did you talk to Casey?"

"About Connecticut?"

"Yeah."

Dan shook his head.

"Did you talk about anything else?"

"Charlie's geography report." Dan shrugged. He started to reach for a candy, and then stopped and folded his hands in his lap. He didn't really want to eat anything. "At the start of this week, it seemed pretty big."

  


* * *

  
There was a fine line between showing consideration for workmates by quietly walking into a room and slinking in like a coward. Dan didn't slink into his office but he was straddling that uncertain line.

It wasn't that he was being cowardly. It was just that Casey had had yesterday off, and Dan hadn't seen him since, well... since Casey had revealed that there were stranger things than crop circles and two-headed cows. Then Abby had tried to rock the boat of his self-assurance, had tried to make logic out of something as insane as Casey's declaration.

Dan was man enough to admit that it had kind of worked. He'd spent Tuesday's show sitting beside Matt Morgan wondering if he was right or if Abby was -- and it had occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that this wouldn't blow over as easily as he'd hoped.

It turned out, he was worrying over nothing. Casey didn't say anything cold or cutting as Dan walked in, didn't make any long speeches as Dan hung up his jacket, didn't give him one hurt look as he settled at the table and started reading through the latest wire reports. In fact, Casey wasn't even aware of him.

"If I waved my hand right in front of you," Dan said cheerfully, "would you even notice?"

Casey started, and the pages he'd been reading scattered across the desk. "Danny!"

Dan grinned. It was a reassuring reaction. "Nice to see you remember my name."

"I didn't see you come in," Casey said, sorting the mess back into a neat stack.

"Obviously."

Casey pointed to the pages. As if that wasn't understandable, he added, "I was reading."

"I noticed because I, unlike you, am aware of my surroundings."

"I was busy."

"Doing what?" Dan asked, gesturing over at the clock. "It's twenty to twelve. There's nothing to be done. Unless you've suddenly discovered an untapped psychic ability."

"Psychic ability?"

"Something that allows you to know the scores in advance, maybe."

Casey rolled his eyes, giving a short shake of his head. "I was reading this."

"This?"

Picking up the pages, Casey waved them at Dan. "This."

"Casey?" When Casey stopped waving the pages around, Dan continued, "You still haven't told me what that is."

"It's Charlie's geography report." Casey sighed, and fell back into the couch.

Dan pulled the chair away from the table, and sat down on it back to front. He put his hands on the backrest, and leaned his chin on his hands. "Charlie's still in grade seven, right?"

"Yeah."

"They write geography reports in grade seven?"

"They do now," Casey said with a shrug. "And my son. Wrote this."

"Are there vast spelling errors?"

"No."

"Is it filled with factual inaccuracies?"

"No." Casey frowned. "At least, I don't think so. I don't know enough about rainforest preservation to be certain, though."

"So what's wrong with it?" Dan snatched the pages from Casey's hand, ignoring Casey's yelp of surprise. "As far as I can see, that makes it a pretty good report for a seventh grader."

Dan started reading, skimming through the simple, informative paragraphs. It wasn't going to win the Booker Prize, but it wasn't a bad paper for a kid in junior school.

"You'll see," Casey muttered as Dan turned to the second page. It took a moment, and then, halfway down the page, he spotted it. And once he'd spotted it, he couldn't help sniggering.

"Danny." Casey glared at him. Casey could complain about it, but apparently Dan wasn't allowed to laugh.

Dan clamped a hand over his mouth but couldn't stop his shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry, man. Really."

"Danny, stop laughing."

Swallowing past the giggles that threatened to rise, Dan schooled his features back to a neutral expression. Okay, to a small, slight grin. "You've got to see the humor here."

"Excuse me for not finding my son's academic career amusing."

"It's not his academic career, Casey. It's one report from seventh grade." Dan clamped down on his grin before he started sniggering again. "And that is some truly terrible phrasing."

If it was possible, Casey's frown got even grimmer. "Says the master of the mixed metaphor."

"Is this, or is this not, the phrase that your son wrote?" Dan cleared his throat and solemnly read. "The virgin forest is one where the hand of man has never set foot."

"He's in seventh grade," Casey protested, grabbing the report back. "Give Charlie a break."

Narrowing his eyes, Dan fixed a careful gaze at Casey. "I'm not the one who sounded like he was considering a suicide pact a few minutes ago."

Casey clenched his jaw and stood up. "Sure."

"What?"

Casey didn't turn around. "Forget it, Danny."

  


* * *

  
"And this was a big deal?" Abby asked. Her brows were drawn together and her lips were pursed, but she didn't say anything more.

"It was." Dan stood up, needing to move as he talked. He started pacing the small space between the couch and her door. "When Casey obsesses about something, he pulls out all the stops. He fumed about it all day."

"Really?"

"I can't tell you how many times I tried to point out to him that he was being ridiculous about it -- that Charlie wanted encouragement, not someone else criticizing him -- but Casey kept ignoring me."

"Okay."

"Charlie came to see him that afternoon." Dan looked over at Abby and added, "It was a Wednesday. Casey always sees Charlie on Wednesday afternoons."

Abby nodded.

"So, Charlie came and Casey was fine. He didn't berate the kid, he didn't bring up the fine art of using metaphors and analogies. He was enthusiastic and supportive and..." Dan realized he was waving his hand, rolling his wrist as he tried to get the words out. He stopped. "He was a good father, you know? He said the right things to Charlie."

"Even though he was obsessing about that sentence?"

Dan shrugged. "We're professional writers. Casey and I are always keyed, at least on some level, to note phrasing and word usage. It's part of what we do."

"But Charlie's report had nothing to do with that, right?"

"Yeah, but." Dan slowed his pacing for a moment. "My point is that I get it, I get Casey's point. I get why it raised a red flag for Casey."

"Then why is it upsetting you?"

"Because Casey did the right thing." Dan walked over to the armchair and sat down. "When it came to Charlie's feelings, Casey did the right thing. He's a good dad."

Abby tilted her head to the side and gave him a slightly crooked smile. "You've said that before."

"It's true. When Charlie's involved, Casey manages to think beyond his own ego. That's not an easy thing for a guy like Casey," he added jokingly. Abby's smile didn't change. "And then I talked to Casey about it."

  


* * *

  
"So," Dan said as they pulled their earpieces off, "you didn't critique Charlie's grasp of the English language?"

Casey shot him a sideways glare, but it was only half-hearted. Dan could see the sheepishness and resignation behind it. "I didn't."

"Because you realized it was one seventh grade report that probably wouldn't land on his permanent record?"

"Because Charlie's a kid," Casey replied as they started walking back to their office, "and he doesn't need to hear that from his father."

Stopping in the doorway, Dan stood and watched Casey peel off his jacket and tie. "I don't get it."

"When I was a kid? I would have loved my dad to act as if--" Casey shrugged. "I would have loved the support."

"That wasn't what I meant." Sighing, Dan decided he couldn't be bothered doubling back to wardrobe to change. He tugged off his own shirt and tie, and then pulled his t-shirt down over his head. "I don't get why this got you up in arms."

"Because..." Casey craned his neck back and blinked at the ceiling a couple of times. The line of his chin met his neck in a soft, obtuse angle, and Dan almost remembered the taste of it. When Casey figured out what he wanted to say, he looked back at Dan. "Because Charlie isn't sporty, and that isn't a big deal for me. I've never been the all-round athlete so I never expected Charlie to be. But he's got Lisa's memory, her head for figures. He's got his grandma's green thumb and his grandpa's love of all things mechanical. And I always hoped he'd have my flair for writing."

"He's twelve. The flair will come in time."

Casey shrugged the suggestion off. "Maybe. It's not like brown eyes or blonde hair. It's not something you definitely inherit. I just..."

"What?"

"I wanted Charlie to be a bit like me, I guess."

"Casey?" Dan stopped and stared at Casey. There was a small crease between Casey's brows. "There's not an inch of that kid that isn't your son. There is no possible way anyone could see the two of you together and not know he's yours. Trust me on that."

Casey beamed. A wide, white smile split Casey's face and for a second, he caught his lower lip between his teeth. "You think?"

"I know it," Dan said quietly, stepping closer to Casey. "He's your son, through and through."

  


* * *

  
"It bothered me," Dan said, uncrossing and recrossing his legs.

"That Charlie was obviously Casey's son?"

"No. Charlie is completely Casey's son, right down to the dorky haircut and miniature Henley shirt. It was--" Sighing impatiently, Dan stood up again.

Abby raised an eyebrow. "You're restless today, aren't you?"

"I have a lot of stuff I want to tell you but it keeps... stopping when I sit down." Dan started pacing again, pointlessly walking because he didn't like where his thoughts were leading. "It wasn't that Charlie was Casey's son. It was that Casey was disappointed in him and he still said the right things."

"Really?"

"I kept thinking about it. And I couldn't sleep." Dan spun around to face Abby. "I couldn't-- I couldn't sleep, so I'd drive to calm my nerves."

"In the middle of the night?"

"I'd drive for half an hour, and I kept finding myself on the route home."

"Home?"

"To my parents' place," Dan corrected quietly. "I didn't have time to drive out, so I'd do a U-turn and come back home, but..."

"But?"

"It's been happening for a while." Dan started walking again, taking a certain vicious pleasure out of stamping along Abby's carpeted floor. "A couple of weeks. Whenever I can't sleep, I'll drive in a random direction. And during the last couple of weeks, I kept starting to drive home."

Abby cleared her throat. "How does this relate to Casey?"

"It doesn't. Or it does, but not really." He couldn't blame Abby for being confused. He was, too. "I just... kept thinking about Casey and Charlie and sons and fathers and expectations. I called Casey at, like, dawn just because I couldn't stop thinking about it."

  


* * *

  
Pulling the car over, Dan grabbed his cell phone off the empty passenger seat and got out. There was a violet pre-dawn light seeping over the horizon and Dan didn't need to look around to know where he was, to know where he'd been driving, even though he hadn't been trying to actually drive anywhere.

He turned the cell phone on and found Casey's number in it. Then he pulled a quarter out of his pocket and flipped it. He would have happily laid his personal responsibility on a coin toss, but it was too dark to see where the coin landed, let alone what the result was.

Shrugging, he pressed 'call' and waited for an answer. During the four long rings he changed his mind a million times.

Casey groaned down the line and Dan fidgeted, holding the cell phone against his ear. "I need to talk to you."

"Dan?" Casey said groggily. Then, in a sharper tone, he said, "Where are you?"

"About two hours away from my parents' place."

"What happened?"

"Nothing." Dan stopped himself from shaking his head. "I'm about to turn around and come back home. I just needed to ask you something."

Over the static of the cell phone, Dan could hear a slight rustling. He carefully didn't picture Casey, or Casey's bed, or Casey in his bed. "Okay, shoot."

"You were disappointed that Charlie wasn't Casey McCall Jr, that he didn't write the way you would've. You were disappointed but you were still supportive, you still encouraged him."

"Yeah," Casey said slowly.

"Why?" Dan blinked against the sudden water in his eyes and blamed it on the chilly morning breeze.

"What?"

Dan's voice was hoarse. "Why didn't you tell him you were disappointed?"

"Danny--"

"Why didn't you tell him that he couldn't live up to your expectations? Why didn't you tell him what you wanted him to be?"

"Are you okay?" Casey asked quickly. "Danny, really. Are you okay?"

Nodding, Dan swallowed. "I'm fine, I just... I'm fine. I shouldn't have called this early. I'm overtired."

"But you're okay to drive back?"

"Yeah. Sorry I called. It was bugging me. I don't even know why."

"Okay." There was a long pause -- where Dan didn't hang up and didn't know why -- and then Casey said, "I was supportive because it doesn't matter."

"Huh?"

"In the end, it doesn't matter. So Charlie doesn't fulfil every wild dream I had for him before he was born. So what?" Casey asked quietly. "He's my son and I want what's best for him. Sometimes I want the impossible. I want him to be perfect at everything, and I want him to always be happy and feel loved. I want his life to be wonderful. But when it comes down to it, Danny, I wouldn't swap him for any other kid, no matter how sporty or eloquent."

"You wouldn't, huh?"

"He's still my son, and I think he's the best kid in the world." Casey chuckled softly. "It's biased but that's how I feel. It's how every father feels."

Dan frowned. "You really think every father feels like that?"

"I'm sure of it."

"I think it depends on the son," Dan said softly and then he hung up.

  


* * *

  
"How were you that day?"

Dan shrugged and said the first word that popped into his head. "Scattered."

"Scattered?"

"I was all about the place, couldn't keep my mind on a topic. I couldn't write. Casey had to write for me." He dragged a hand over his head and stopped pacing for a moment. "He had to write the next day for me, too."

Abby nodded. "Then what happened?"

"I had a day off."

"And?" Abby asked gently.

"I tossed and turned all night. I couldn't get settled." Dan started pacing again. "Then, at eight o'clock, I dragged myself out of bed and went for a drive. I pulled over about five times before I got to my parents' place."

"Did you throw up?" Abby asked, and only she could make a question like that sound mundane and normal.

"Twice, actually." Dan wrapped his arms around himself. "And when I got there, I parked in their street for, like, half an hour. It wasn't until I saw Mom drive by that I even got the courage up to go inside."

  


* * *

  
He found his father out in the garage. The back half of the double garage had been converted to a workshop when they first moved into the house. Now it was infused with seventeen years of his father's personality. At the end of the day, the bench was always left clear and the tools were always packed away ("Everything in its place, Danny.") and the current project stacked into one corner.

Through the doorway, Dan could see the stocky figure of his father bent over the bench. He was marking a curved edge on a wide section of honey-colored wood. It looked like a table-top, but what Dan didn't know about furniture could have filled Gideon's Bible.

Dan swallowed, knocked on the open door, and stepped inside. "Hey."

His father looked over his shoulder, his forehead creasing a little as he looked Dan up and down. "Your mother's out, but she'll be back soon. Give her about ten minutes." Having said that, his father turned back to the piece of wood.

"I thought you were supposed to be recovering?"

"So?"

"Didn't the doctor say no work for three months?"

"I'm a grown man. I can do what I want." His father kept his back to him and it felt oddly familiar, trying to talk to his father's wide shoulders. "Why don't you wait for your mother in the house?"

"I actually came to talk to you, Dad."

His father's eyes shot up. "Why?"

Part of him wanted to run away, retreat back to Mom and her soft embraces that smelled of roses and peanut-butter. He didn't want to be here; it was clear his father didn't want him here either, but he had to say this stuff now. If he didn't, he never would.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Dan watched his father's feet. "I wanted to apologize."

His father huffed, as if Dan was an annoyance, as if this was something unnecessary, as if this was something only his schmuck of a son would do. "What for?"

Dan felt his words crumble in the back of his throat. "What for?"

"Spit it out, Danny. If you're just going to stand there, you can stand in the house while I do this. If you came here to talk," his father said, taking a step towards him, "talk."

"I wanted to say I'm sorry." Dan crossed his arms a little tighter, pressed down against his ribcage, as if outside pressure could ease the strain inside his chest. "I'm sorry for Sam."

"Get out."

"Dad--"

His father's voice was cold and quiet as he walked back to the bench. "Get out, Danny."

"No," Dan said, taking a step forward.

"What?"

"No, Dad." Dan could suddenly understand the 'do or die' mentality, the urge to jump off a cliff, to jump out of a plane because if you didn't do it then, you never would. So he took a deep breath and set his jaw. He leaped. "I want to talk about Sam. Just once, I want you to say his name."

His father turned his head away.

"And I wanted to apologize," Dan added.

His father trailed his fingers over the curve he'd marked on the wood. His fingernails were dirty, short and split at the ends. "You still haven't told me what you're apologizing for."

"For Sam." Dan swallowed; he heard himself swallow, but somehow the wet noise in his ears sounded more like the sound of flesh being reshaped by metal, sounded more like Sam's forehead hitting the steering wheel. They were sounds he'd never actually heard. They were sounds that echoed in his guilt-ridden nightmares. "For not being the son that you deserved, for not being the brother that he needed."

He dragged in a shaky breath and blinked away the excess water in his eyes. He didn't dare look up at his father. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry I never listened to you, I'm sorry I set such a bad example for Sammy. I never thought, I *never* thought that could happen, and I'm sorry."

In the background, he could hear the occasional traffic of suburbia. Dan counted four cars driving past before his father spoke. "Is that all?"

"Yeah, it is," Dan said. There was bitter disappointment at the back of his throat, and he didn't know what he'd been expecting -- nothing, he guessed -- but he'd thought it would make him feel better. He'd thought that saying the words would make it hurt less. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I needed you to know that I'm sorry."

His father's expression barely changed. "And I know."

Dan shifted his weight awkwardly, then he added, "You know, if there was anything, anything I could do to get Sammy back, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"I've never doubted that, Danny," his father said, the words almost carved in stone.

He walked closer, desperately needing his father to understand. "If there was anything I could do, if there was any way I could trade me for him, I would. I'd gladly do it--"

There was a clap of thunder in his ears and a hot sting against his cheek. It took a moment for Dan to realize that his father had slapped him -- had actually slapped him -- across the face.

His dad's face was red with anger, the round cheeks puffed out and cherry-dark. "You think that helps? You think that makes this any better?"

One hand against his cheek and Dan could only stare at his father. "I thought--"

"You're an idiot. You think trading you for Sammy--" His father was so angry he was almost spitting his words. "You're an idiot, Danny."

"I just wanted--"

"I hope you never lose a child. I hope you never know what it's like to bury your own son. I hope you never get that call from a hospital, never feel your heart turn to dust when those machines stop beeping. I hope you never know how deep it cuts to bring a life into this world and then watch it disappear. I hope you never know that, Danny, but if you do--" His father took a step closer, glaring into Dan's eyes. "If you do, then you'll understand that it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter which child it is. You can't mourn one child more than another, not any more than you can love one child more than another."

Dan sniffed and blinked rapidly, ignoring the tears that were threatening to fall. "But--"

"You think that's going to make me feel better?" his father asked, his voice a little softer but his dark eyes still hard. "Giving you up for Sam wouldn't make it any different. I'd still have lost my son."

Dan shook his head. He didn't have the words to reply.

"And you're an idiot," his father said, and then took a step closer and wrapped his arms around Danny. One hand across the back of his neck, pulling his head against his father's shoulder, and the other hand around his back, and all Dan could do was close his eyes and cling to his dad.

And when his father said, "You're an idiot if you think I would ever want that. Ever, Danny," Dan believed him.

  


* * *

  
Dan stopped talking and sat down, exhausted.

For a few minutes, Abby was silent. "It sounds like it went well."

"Yeah," Dan said carefully. "I just don't get why I don't feel better."

"Did you feel better then?"

Dan nodded. "Yeah, I felt-- God, Abby, I felt so relieved I could have cried. Nearly did."

"So what happened next?"

"Mom came home. We headed into the kitchen and ended up talking. I mean, actually talking about Sam. About the way that he and I used to pin blankets around our shoulders and run around the apartment, pretending to be superheroes. About the way we used to play chess and he'd always beat me. About the way he used to dangle upside down from the top bunk and eat sandwiches while he read through these ridiculously long users' manuals."

"Was that all you talked about? Happy memories of Sam?"

Dan shook his head slowly. "No."

"What else?"

"About Sammy. About talking to his friends after the funeral." Dan swallowed and pushed himself further into the couch cushions. "I don't even remember them being there. I don't remember... I don't remember most of it, actually. I didn't know."

"What didn't you know?"

"Mom said--" He blinked back tears, angry with himself for being this upset about something so stupid. "She said--"

"Dan, look at me." Abby stopped, waiting until he met her eyes, and then she said, "What did your Mom say?"

"She said that Sam and his friends were drinking. That Sam had been partying with his friends for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"A couple of years, apparently." Dan bit down on his cheek and waited for the pain to soften. "Sam had been drinking and smoking pot for a couple of years."

There was a long silence.

"I didn't know," Dan added uselessly. "Mom and Dad didn't know, but I didn't know either. I didn't have a clue."

"What did you think had happened?"

"I thought. I thought it was Sammy's first time, I assumed it must have been. I thought he was trying to be like me, I thought--" Dan swallowed.

"Your parents never told you?"

"They found out after the funeral. We always knew Sam was the smart one. Turns out he was smart enough that nobody knew what he was getting up to."

"But they never told you?"

"That's what I asked, and you know what Dad said?" Dan could feel the nasty smirk form. "You don't speak ill of the dead, Danny."

"It's an old belief," Abby said. "It's natural that people try to remember the best of a person."

Dan shook his head sharply. "I don't care. They should have told me."

"Probably, yeah."

"They should have, Abby. They should have." Dan looked around. His gaze settled on his watch: nearly time to leave. "The thing I don't get is that Dad basically said he loved me. I can't remember my dad ever saying that, not in all my life. Why can't I just be happy about that?"

"You are." Abby smiled, and leaned forward. "But you're angry, too. You're angry at your parents for not telling you about Sam and you're angry at Sam. You're angry that he was clever enough to hide this from the people he loved, but he was stupid enough to drink and get high and drive."

"It doesn't make sense."

"Sometimes things don't. Sometimes smart people make foolish mistakes. And sometimes, it's easier to punish yourself than to admit that other people are only human."

Dan towed his fingers along the thighs of his jeans. "You think that's what I've been doing?"

"I know it's what you've been doing. And you've been doing it for a long time."

"I'm tired, Abby. I'm tired of always feeling bad about this, I'm tired of always being angry at someone about this. I'm just tired." Dan sighed as he got up. "I should have stayed standing."

"If it makes you feel better," Abby said with a sweet smile, "I prefer it when you sit."

"Really?"

"I get a crick in the neck when you stand all session."

Dan snorted and walked out.

  


* * *

  


"Man, are my hands cold," Dan said, trying to rub the fall chill out of his fingers. He huddled inside his black, woolen coat. "Who said winter could start early?"

Abby rolled her eyes. "And good afternoon to you too, Dan."

"It was fine a couple days ago, and now?" Dan asked, working his hands quickly. "It's cold. Far too cold for this time of year."

"So how was your week?" Abby asked pointedly.

"I screwed up on Thursday night. Huge," Dan said, holding his hands wide apart, "huge, incredibly amateur screw up. But it was repairable."

"Yeah?"

"Well, you watched Thursday's show, right? You couldn't tell that something went wrong."

"No."

"See, it wasn't obvious to the audience." Dan grimaced. "It was just embarrassing."

Abby shook her head. "I didn't mean that it wasn't noticeable."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"I meant that I didn't watch the show."

Now both brows were hovering high on Dan's forehead. "Why not?"

"I don't normally watch the show."

"You've watched it before."

"When I was up or I had nothing better to do. It's not a regular thing."

"Why not?" Dan sat back, folding his hands across his lap. "It's a good show."

Abby laughed. "I know it's a good show."

"Then why don't you watch it?"

"Because it's on at midnight and I'd rather be asleep."

"You could watch the re-run."

Shrugging, Abby replied, "I'm not that into sports."

"But I'm coming to see you, and talking about this stuff, and you don't even watch the show?" Dan leaned back, drawing away from Abby. "I think I'm a little disillusioned, a little disappointed in you. I thought you would have cared enough to watch."

"Dan, I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. You pay me to do a job, I do a job. I'm not being paid to give you a critical opinion of your show and I don't think watching you every night helps me do the job I am being paid to do."

Dan snorted lightly, a quiet huff of disbelief. "How do you know if you don't watch?"

"If I watch," Abby said, getting up from behind the desk and walking closer, "I form an opinion based on what I saw. I'd have preconceived ideas about how you were or what had happened, and that doesn't help."

"Why not?"

Abby sat down on the armchair. "Because an important part of therapy is working through how you see the world. To listen to how you describe events, to how you felt about them, to see how you assigned meaning to them. I can do that better if I work without preconceived ideas about how you are or what's happened."

"There's a flaw in that logic," Dan said slowly. He scratched at his shoulder and then shrugged. "You have preconceived ideas."

"Do I?"

"If you didn't, you wouldn't have been so shocked when I told you I kissed Casey."

"The first time? In New York?"

Dan stared at her. "Yes," he said slowly, as if he was talking to very small child or a soccer fan.

Abby sat back and crossed her legs, one long thigh over the other and Dan took a second to admire the graceful heel of her boot. "I was surprised."

"Because you had preconceived ideas of what should and shouldn't happen between friends, because you had a preconceived idea of Casey and me, and how we should act."

"No."

"No?" Dan sat up straight, turning to face Abby head-on. "You'll have to explain more than that."

"I had ideas about you. I had ideas about where you were, about how much you were hiding from yourself." Abby paused for a moment, readjusting the clipboard on her lap. "I was surprised that you'd acknowledged your feelings about Casey. I honestly didn't think you were ready for that."

"What?" Dan spluttered.

"As it turned out, you weren't. You managed to make out with Casey, without actually facing the way you felt about him. You have an amazing capacity for self-delusion and denial."

"Whoa." Dan held his hands up, creating a stop sign that would hopefully halt Abby's suggestion. "This is not self-delusion. This is not denial. There are no secret feelings. If I wanted to hear insane theories about secret feelings, I'd get counseling from Natalie."

Abby was nonplussed. "Natalie wouldn't see it."

"Because it's not there."

"Because you've spent a decade hiding it from the people you know."

"Abby, these are wild, wild-- really wild things. Conjectures. Theories. Whatever," Dan blurted out quickly. His shoulders tensed against the back of the couch. "The point is, they're off-base and wrong and wildly… wrong. Really, wildly wrong."

"Try saying that three times fast."

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I," Abby said, rustling the papers on her clipboard as she leaned closer, "but you obviously don't want to talk about it. I'm not going to force the issue."

"Because it's not there. It's a non-issue. It's wildly untrue, not a speck of truth to it, and it's kind of insane. I'm worrying about your mental health, Abby."

Abby blinked, one long, slow movement of eyelids closing-and-opening again. "Save the denial for someone who'll believe it."

"It's not denial, it's--"

"Dan. Don't." Those two simple words held a world of warning. It was enough to make Dan clamp his mouth shut and stop the defiance crawling up his throat. After a moment, Abby turned her hazel eyes back to her page. "Why don't you tell me what went wrong on Thursday?"

"Okay." He sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore Abby's insinuations. She didn't know what she was talking about. "We had the baseball highlights scheduled in the early tens. The hockey highlights were scheduled in the twenties. I read the hockey stuff instead of the baseball stuff."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Abby said cautiously.

"It's a big thing. Everything goes by the rundown, everything's timed. You need to know the precise minute that you'll be throwing to the on-site reporters. You can't have seconds of dead air." Dan stretched his neck to the side, feeling himself relax. This was stuff he knew inside out and back-to-front. "That's not counting the way that you need to know when each graphic has to be onscreen and which bit of tape and which voiceover. It's a lot of organizing."

"So what happened when you started talking about the wrong sport?"

"It took everyone by surprise, basically. Worst case scenario, I could have ended up announcing the hockey highlights with a baseball logo over my shoulder. I could have been talking about goals while there was a homerun on the screen. Luckily, Dana was thinking on her feet and told me to throw to commercial."

"So you did?"

"Damn right I did," Dan said with a sharp nod. "When Dana tells you to throw, you throw. If it's an unscheduled commercial break, it means something has gone extremely wrong in the control room."

  


* * *

  
Dan stared down Camera Two. "Dana? What's with the unscheduled C-break?"

The control room door swung open and Dana strode towards them, yelling with her arms waving above her head. "What's with the unscheduled hockey coverage?"

"Dana--" Casey started, but she talked through him.

"What were you doing, Dan?" Dana didn't look happy, but at least her voice dropped to a normal volume.

"What are you talking about?"

Dana scowled, her pink-glossed lips curling down. "In today's rundown meetings, we discussed which sport was going in the early tens. Which sport was that, Dan?"

Dan frowned in confusion. "Baseball."

"And on today's rundown, which sport are we doing in the early tens?"

"Baseball."

"And on your script, which sport are we doing in the early tens?"

Dan looked over to Casey for support, wondering if Casey had any clue what was going on here. "Baseball," he said slowly.

"Then tell me," Dana gritted out, her hands pressed into tight fists against the anchor desk "Why -- for the love of all things holy, Dan -- *why* were you talking about hockey?"

"I wasn't," Dan said, wondering if Dana had just gotten news of Sam Donovan coming into town. He turned to Casey, hoping that the pair of them could deflect Dana's insanity: it had never worked before, but there was always hope. "I wasn't. Right, Casey?"

Casey tilted his head down, and the studio lights created a stripe of dark shadow running across his throat. "You were."

"But--" Dan glanced ahead of them, skimming the words on the teleprompter. "This is the time for baseball."

"You were talking about hockey," Casey said.

"The teleprompter says baseball," Dan said weakly.

"Which is why you should read the teleprompter," Dana sniped. She let out a sigh and added, "You didn't realize you were doing it?"

Dan shook his head, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. "I must have been reading off my script. I must have-- I don't know. I must have turned too many pages. I don't know how I did something like that."

"It's okay, Danny." That was Casey, reaching out a hand and wrapping it around Dan's wrist, but Dan was watching Dana, watching her blue eyes soften, watching the way her clenched jaw didn't.

"I'm really sorry, Dana. Really. How bad was it?"

"You mean apart from a missing graphic and the general chaos in the control room?" Dana cleared her throat and seemed to decide that that was enough time wasted. "It's fixable. We're going to come back and do the rest of the hockey highlights -- the control team is getting it ready now -- and then go on. Dan, you'll do the baseball highlights in the twenties, where the hockey highlights should have been."

"Okay."

"And hopefully," Dana said, giving a wave back to the control room, "nothing else will go wrong with tonight's show."

Casey waited until the control room door closed behind her. Then he scooted his chair closer to Dan's. "You okay?"

Dan shuffled the pages of his script and pasted a smile on. "I'm feeling like the biggest idiot on TV."

"Danny," Casey said softly and there was a moment when Dan turned to him, where their faces were close together, and he was terrified of what Casey would say. He didn't have a clue what it was, but he was petrified by Casey's slightly parted lips, by the dipped angle of his head.

Dan swallowed. "Yeah?"

"As long as Jerry Falwell keeps appearing on my TV screen," Casey said in a deadly serious tone, "you're way out-classed in that competition."

Relief flooded through him and Dan grinned. "I don't stand a chance, huh?"

"You really don't." Casey dragged his chair back to where it should be as Dave called out thirty seconds to air. Resting his hands on the anchor desk, Casey said, "But if you want to talk about what's bringing out your inner idiot, we can get together after the show."

"Can we mock Jerry Falwell some more?"

Casey let out a mean chuckle. "With pleasure."

"Then I'm there," Dan said, and took them back from commercial.

  


* * *

  
"So you talked after the show?"

Dan nodded. "We were going to go to Anthony's, but it's a bit busy on a Thursday night. You can't hear yourself think, which is fine if you're trying to get drunk, but otherwise, not great."

"Where did you go?"

"My place. Seemed easier."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "Isn't Casey's closer?"

"Yeah, but--" Dan waved vaguely towards Abby's closed, wooden door. "It made more sense to go to my place."

"Why?"

"Because Casey had just had Charlie over and his place was a mess."

"Can I ask you something?" Abby said politely.

Dan hissed in a breath between his teeth. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Indulge me," Abby replied, and Dan knew he wouldn't like it. "Have you been over to Casey's place since he told you he was in love with you?"

"It's been a busy week. We normally get together at Anthony's." Dan rolled his eyes. "It's not a big deal if I go a few weeks without crossing Casey's threshold."

"Some people would see it as a sign that you're uncomfortable around Casey at the moment."

"But not you, right?" Dan asked, sarcasm corroding the affable tone he'd meant to use. "You wouldn't jump to conclusions about the meaning of something as inconsequential as that."

The sarcasm had no effect on Abby: she let it wash over her like it was bubble-bath foam. "It isn't inconsequential and you know it. You were scared of what he was going to say, you're uncomfortable with the idea of being in his space. It means something."

"It means that I'm tired and my nerves are a bit frayed. It means as much as--" Dan stopped as he realized that his example wouldn't work because Abby would definitely read meaning into that. "It doesn't mean anything."

Abby uncrossed her legs. "As much as what?"

"As much as nothing."

"As much as what, Dan?"

"I was going to say..." Dan shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Tell me."

"Why?"

"Because something you're fighting this hard not to tell me, obviously does mean something."

"Uh-huh?"

"Maybe it doesn't mean a lot, maybe it doesn't mean anything bad, but it does mean something." Abby pushed her brown hair away from her face. "Here's a hint, Dan. The less you want to talk about something, the more uncomfortable it makes you feel, the more desperately you want to ignore it and not mention it, not examine it, the more you probably should. The things you're shying away from are the things you're hiding from. They're the things I'm here to help you with."

Sullenly, Dan glared at Abby's desk. He didn't care if she was right, he didn't want to do it. But knowing Abby, she'd still weasel it out of him later. "I walked to Casey's place. I couldn't sleep last night, and I didn't feel like driving, so I walked. I found myself at Casey's building."

Abby nodded, but her friendly expression didn't change, didn't give anything away. "What do you think that means?"

"I think it means I need a better cure for insomnia," Dan replied quickly. Then he stopped and thought. "I think it means that I've been thinking about Casey a lot lately."

"Okay."

Dan squirmed in the chair, not at all comfortable with this conversation. "Do you want me to tell you about the rest of my week, or not?"

"Tell me." Abby sat back. "I'm all ears."

Dan shifted over to the other side of the couch, a little further away from Abby, and slapped his hands against his jeans. "Casey came over to my place, and I told him what was going on. I told him about seeing my dad. I told him about finding myself driving there, even though I didn't have the courage to keep going. I told him what Dad did, and what Mom said about Sam. And I told him about talking to you."

Abby bopped her head up. "Really?"

"I don't normally tell him about therapy stuff, I don't-- I don't want to talk to other people about it, you know?" Dan shrugged. "So normally I don't tell Casey about that."

"But you talked to him about Sam?"

"I had to. It was-- I was--" Dan breathed deeply through his nose and thought about the words he wanted to use. "I was upset. I was angry, and sad, and relieved. And guilty. Guilty that I was relieved, guilty that I felt angry. Guilty that I keep letting it screw up the show. It isn't amateur hour and... It took me a long time to shake the feeling that I didn't belong there, that I was too young, too inexperienced. That any day now someone was going to notice and give me my marching orders. It took me a year to shake that feeling at Lone Star. It took me months to shake it when we moved to Sports Night, and every time I screw up it makes me feel like that again."

"But you know you're good at what you do," Abby said calm certainty. "You know you belong there."

"Yeah, but--" Dan wanted to say how that feeling made him clench up inside, made his writing bad and his delivery flat, but then he realized something. "I'm avoiding the topic, aren't I?"

Abby shrugged. "A little. But I'd drive you back there eventually."

"Huh." The couch creaked quietly as Dan shifted. "I had to tell Casey. Casey's always been the guy who got me, the guy who understood. The guy who kept me together when I thought nothing in the world could stop me from falling apart. So I told him."

"What happened?"

"He sat still and listened for a long while. When I was finished, when I had nothing more to say, he silently sat for a while longer." Dan couldn't help smiling a little. "Then he suggested a road trip."

  


* * *

  
"Are you nuts?" Dan asked, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of Casey quietly announcing, 'We should go on a road trip.' "I tell you about the major things that are happening in my life, these huge traumas, and you suggest we jump in a car and drive to Omaha?"

"Please," Casey replied with the hint of a smile. He stretched out on Dan's couch, hooking a knee over one armrest. "I'd never suggest anyone voluntarily go to Omaha."

"But we should do a road trip?"

"I'm saying we should take tomorrow off and do a bit of driving."

Dan boggled at him. "To where?"

Casey smiled and Dan knew that smile: it was a hopeful smile, it was Casey's 'please be with me on this' smile. "Connecticut."

"No way," Dan vetoed it with a fast, slicing motion. "I am not taking a day off to go talk to my parents. There is no way I'm ready for that."

Casey half-shrugged. "I'm not saying talk to your parents."

"You're not?"

"I'm saying go to Connecticut and talk to Sam."

"Have you fallen down and hit your head?" Dan spluttered, nudging Casey with his elbow. "I can't go to Connecticut and talk to Sam. Sam's dead, remember?"

Then Dan stopped, realizing he'd just said that Sam was dead, realizing that the words hadn't hurt -- not as much as they should have. He was still digesting that information when he noticed that Casey was talking.

"--I'm saying go to Connecticut, visit his grave. Talk to him. Take tomorrow off and get this stuff off your chest." Casey shrugged. "I think it's a bit like being mad with anyone. Sometimes you just need to say it, you need to tell them it. And you don't want them to interrupt and tell you that you're being childish and petty. You want them to stand there and listen to your complaints."

"Huh."

"It can't hurt too much. It's not like he's going to talk back to you," Casey said with a grin. Casey was the only person who could do that -- who could listen and then joke -- and not make it hurt. "Plus, you know, road trip."

"Okay." Dan nodded. "When it's daylight outside, I'll ask Dana about taking a day off."

"I already did."

"When?"

"After tonight's show." Casey pulled his knee towards him and looped his arms around it. "Things seem to be getting on top of you, Danny, and I thought you might need a day off. And maybe someone to talk to."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "So you got Dana to give us tomorrow off?"

"Apparently, that's the last time I can use the great job I did for her when she sprained her ankle last year. There's no more leverage to that good deed." Casey tilted his head to the side and his hair flopped against his eyebrows. "When was the last time we had a day off together? I figured that even if you didn't need it, it'd be nice."

  


* * *

  
"So I picked Casey up in the morning, and we made our way to the Beth-El Cemetery."

"The drive was nice?"

"The weather was good, a lot warmer than today," Dan said pointedly, glancing at the overcast skies outside. "The trip was fine."

"Good."

Dan narrowed his eyes. "I notice you're not quizzing me about where Casey slept and where I slept."

"If you slept with Casey, would you tell me?"

"Yeah," Dan replied before he even thought about it. "Huh."

"See? I don't need to push."

"What's changed?" Dan rolled his wrist around in a circle. "How can you be sure that I'd tell you?"

"Part of it is because I didn't freak out and deep down, you were expecting me to be shocked -- or horrified -- when you told me. Part of it is that you're working your way through your issues with Casey."

"I don't have issues with Casey," Dan said quickly.

"You do. You're not sure how you feel about him, but you are slowly realizing that there's something more going on." Abby shrugged. "Basically, it's a matter of trust. You're trusting yourself more and you're trusting me more. Put it down to the fact that you're getting better."

"Okay," Dan said, even though that didn't feel as reassuring as it should. "But the drive went well."

"Good."

Dan grinned as he thought of something. "You might get a kick out of this. We stopped for gas when we were half an hour away, and Casey bought flowers."

Abby looked confused. "For you?"

"For the grave," Dan said with a smirk.

"Ah." Abby grinned. "He didn't know that was a no-no?"

"Apparently, nobody told Midwestern Boy. Even though he's been living in New York for -- how long now? -- at least four years, he didn't know you don't bring flowers. I felt bad, but I had to tell him."

  


* * *

  
"Why are you holding a bunch of flowers?" Dan stared at the sad little posy -- it was a bit too small to be called a bouquet -- of bright daisies and daffodils clutched in Casey's hand.

"I thought it would be a nice gesture," Casey said, cradling the small bunch of cheerful blooms protectively. "A sign of respect."

"So you bought flowers at a gas station."

Casey grimaced. "I kind of forgot. I only remembered when I saw them."

"So you bought my brother cheap flowers?" Dan eyed the posy warily. "You know we're going to a Jewish cemetery, right?"

"I didn't think we were going to a Hindu one."

"You don't take flowers to a Jewish grave."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't," Dan replied. "You leave a stone to show you were there. You don't leave flowers."

"You leave a stone?" Casey asked suspiciously.

"A stone."

"A stone? Really?"

"Really."

"You're absolutely sure of this?"

"Yes, I am absolutely sure of the religion I grew up with and still celebrate," Dan said, taking the flowers from Casey and putting them on the back seat. "Give it up. The flowers are a lost cause."

"Fine." Casey looked over at the flowers. It wouldn't have cost Casey a fortune and it wasn't such a big deal, but Dan understood Casey's reluctance. "I'll take your word for it."

"Good, because I'm right." Nodding, Dan started the car up. "But I appreciate the gesture."

  


* * *

  
"It was," Dan paused, dragging his fingernails along the arm of the couch, "sweet, you know? Earnest and dorky...and sweet."

"Just like Casey?"

"Yeah," Dan replied distractedly. Then he laughed. "Actually, yeah, that is a good description of him."

Abby gave him a quick smile and then she was back to business. "So what happened?"

"We drove there, I talked to the gravestone and then we drove back." Dan shrugged. "That pretty much covers it."

The expression on Abby's face didn't change: it remained calmly interested, waiting for Dan to say more.

Dan frowned and shifted. There were times when Abby's couch seemed comfortable. Today wasn't one of those days. "I nearly got us lost, you know?"

"Driving there?"

"At the cemetery. I almost didn't remember where Sam was." Quickly, Dan added, "I haven't been there since college -- it's not a place I regularly hang out -- so it's not surprising. It was just embarrassing."

"But you found it."

Dan nodded. He didn't want to talk about this. He *really* didn't want to talk about this, but according to Abby that was why he had to. "Just one wrong turn away."

"Okay."

"It was weird, standing there, reciting the Mourner's Kaddish, with Casey beside me." Dan didn't mention Casey's hand on his shoulder even though he could still remember the warmth of Casey's arm against his back. "Then Casey excused himself and went to stand under some big tree. You know, that always bugs me."

Abby blinked. "Standing under trees?"

"Big trees. In cemeteries, it's always big trees." Dan waved his hand toward Abby's window, as if the view of concrete and buildings proved his point. "They must have grown from something, right? They must have started small and then grown bigger. But you never see small trees in cemeteries. They're always big."

Abby shrugged. "They probably buy established trees from nurseries."

"I know, but it's weird," Dan shot back, a little louder than he meant to. "There should be a sign that they grew out of something, not that they just got planted there, fully grown. It's weird, Abby. It was weird when--"

When Dan didn't continue, Abby did. "When was it weird?"

It took Dan a moment to speak, to swallow past the taste of ashes in his mouth. "When Sam was buried. I remember… The rabbi droning on and on, and looking around and thinking that there were no small trees. The trees were there, but they were all huge, all established, they weren't… I don't know. It just seemed weird. It seemed sad that these things grew somewhere and then got dumped in a cemetery."

Crossing his arms, Dan blinked and tried to get back to the topic. "Casey went and stood under a tree, and I ended up reciting prayers to a chunk of stone. I haven't said those prayers in a long time but it was the only thing I could think of to say."

"Was that all you said to Sam?"

Dan shrugged.

"Dan?"

"I recited the Kaddish about three times and then… I started babbling. I didn't know what to say so I started talking about how weird it was that I remember the words to something I haven't said in years. That it was like favorite songs, the way you can remember lyrics years later. Like the way that I can still remember the words to the David Bowie record that Sam used to have. Like the way I can still remember the way Sam's hair used to part in the middle, regardless of how long he'd spend brushing it in the morning, by the time we got home from school, it'd be parted again, dead straight along the middle of his head. Like the time he tripped over the keyboard cord for my computer and the K key came off. We spent over an hour searching through our room and finally found it, under the middle of Sam's bed. That was the other side of the room, we had no idea how it got there."

Dan rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck back. "I'm not even sure what else I said. I just started talking, and words came out. I didn't tell him he was an idiot, or that I was angry with him, or that he should have told me, I just babbled about all this stuff we used to do together. I don't even know if there was any point going up there."

Abby leaned forward, a quiet smile on her face. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah."

"Then there was a point."

Dan frowned. "Shouldn't it be resolving issues and getting things off my chest?"

"You thought you'd go up there, visit Sam's grave once, and -- poof! -- it'd all be better?"

"You think I'm over-simplifying it, huh?"

"I think you're being overly optimistic." Abby shrugged. "It takes time to fix, Dan. This isn't the type of thing where you wake up and decide that's it: you're now a perfectly-balanced, fully-functioning human being. I hate to break it to you, but a that doesn't exist. To err is human."

"Then why am I coming here?" Dan asked. It didn't have the defensive tone that was normally part of that question.

"Because you were in pain. Because therapy can help that. It can help you to improve your life by stopping you from sabotaging it."

"I don't sabotage my life," Dan shot back and Abby gave him a sharp look. "Well, only a little."

She raised an eyebrow. "And only where Casey's concerned?"

"We're not getting into that," Dan said firmly. "Not again."

"Then tell me more about the cemetery."

"I don't remember what I said. I don't even remember sitting down."

Abby half-smiled, her confusion clear. "But you did?"

"I remember standing up when Casey came back, but I don't remember sitting down. Chalk up another weird point for cemeteries."

  


* * *

  
Casey's footsteps weren't light. Casey's footsteps were never light -- Dan could recognize his footsteps half a corridor away, so there was proof that the guy didn't have some secret stealth-walk -- but this time, Dan didn't even realize Casey was there until he felt Casey's hand on his shoulder.

"You need some more time?" Casey asked carefully, his voice so soft Dan had to strain to hear him.

"Nah," Dan said, shaking his head as if that would force the right words to his tongue. "I'm all talked out."

"You want to head home?"

"Yeah." Dan didn't move. He waited for Casey to bug him, for Casey to say something about the time or about motionless sports anchors or something, but Casey didn't. He simply stood there quietly, his hand warm on Dan's shoulder. Dan gave it a quick squeeze and then stood up. "I miss him, you know?"

"We can stay, if you want." Casey raised one shoulder, like his right-side wanted to shrug but his left side was lazy. For a moment, it made Dan think of Isaac -- back when he first returned, when it took visible effort for Isaac to force his body to respond. It wasn't a particularly happy memory, but it still made Dan smile.

"I want to go home." They started walking across the green lawn, back towards the car. Dan tried not to look at the small piles of stones on some graves, tried not to think about how many people came here and recited the same prayers, year after year. Instead, he watched Casey. "Do you think he misses me?"

Casey's brows shot up. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

They stopped in the shade of a tall pine tree. Casey sighed and rested his back against it. "No."

"Really?"

"I don't think he's away from you," Casey said quietly.

Dan snorted lightly. "Is this one of those 'he's still in your heart' type speeches?"

"Nah," Casey said easily. Then he added, "I mean, not that he isn't, but that wasn't what I meant."

Dan shifted his weight onto his left foot, and rested his hands in his pockets. Apart from a crumpled receipt for gas, they were empty. "What did you mean?"

"I meant that--" Casey grimaced. "Look, this may sound a little ridiculous but here goes. Heaven's supposed to be this great place, right? Peace and love and happiness, all that stuff. How could you be at peace if you're worrying about everyone you left behind?"

Dan nodded and gestured for Casey to continue.

"I don't think you'd be happy without the people you love, so I think that when you go to Heaven, everybody's already there. All the people you care about, they're there, whether or not they were alive when you died."

"Huh."

"I told Jeremy about it once and he said it was like being connected by space but not by time. He got all scientific, and talked about differential timelines or different universes with disconnected timelines. Or something like that." Casey shrugged. "It's like the Baseball Hall of Fame. Once you get there, it doesn't matter if the other guys played thirty years before you or thirty years after you, you're still with the best... Okay, that analogy didn't work, but you get my point, right?"

"That after you die, you spend eternity with all the people that made life worth living?" Dan asked, and Casey nodded. "So, for Sam, we're already there? Mom and Dad? David, Susie and me?"

"And grandparents and aunts, uncles, cousins. Friends. Girlfriends, even."

Dan looked up, tried to see the glimpses of blue through the heavy branches above him. "And you really believe that?"

"I believe it," Casey said in the same tone of voice he'd used to defend the Yankees' last defeat. "It's not exactly Church dogma, but it's what I believe. I don't know if that helps at all."

Dan thought about the idea: somewhere, on some level or in some universe, his family was still -- or already -- together. "It's a comforting thought."

"Made sense to me."

"Yeah," Dan replied as they started walking again, "but you think that the greatest athlete of the last century is Babe Ruth."

Casey caught his eye and grinned. "He could hit, Danny. You can't deny that he could hit."

  


* * *

  
"Do you think Casey's right?"

"Casey's a smart guy," Dan said, and then grinned, "when he's not being a blockhead."

Abby kept watching him. "But do you think he's right?"

"Maybe. I'm not…" Dan shook his head, not even sure of what he was going to say. "I don't know. It's a maybe, Abby. It's as good a theory as any other I've heard."

"Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"You realize you can't go two sessions without mentioning Casey or what he thinks about something?"

Dan scowled. "Abby--"

"Just think about it. We'll talk next week."

  


* * *

  


  
"You don't really think I'm in love with Casey, right?" Dan demanded the moment Abby picked up the phone. "Because I'm not."

"Dan--"

"I'm really not." Dan got up from his couch and paced over to his kitchen, listening to the sounds of clinking cutlery and buzzing conversations coming from Abby's end.

He could hear Abby making polite excuses -- saying, "I really have to take this," -- then the background noise quieted. "For future reference, I could have been with a client."

Dan walked over to the fridge. "But you're not."

"No, I'm not, but I could have been," Abby said, possibly annoyed. He couldn't quite tell; Abby's voice rarely left its calm, controlled, I-know-what's-best-for-you range. "And if I was, starting the conversation with a greeting wouldn't have been out of line."

"Point taken." Dan opened his fridge door, looking for... something. A snack, maybe. He wasn't quite sure what he was in the mood for. The left over Chinese and cold slice of pizza that stared back at him wasn't appealing.

"Good," Abby said. "So why are you calling me at twenty past eight?"

He closed the door. There was nothing there he wanted. "To make sure you weren't under the impression that I'm in love with Casey."

"You interrupted an extremely good bowl of seafood bisque for that?"

"It seemed like an important fact for you to know."

Abby hmm'd. "Why does it bother you so much?"

"You thinking I'm in love with Casey?" Dan asked, leaning against the counter. "I'm a little unsettled by the idea of seeing a therapist who's totally disconnected from reality."

"It's only my opinion. Does it really matter?"

"Yes."

"Even though I wouldn't tell anyone?"

Dan frowned, and started pacing. Four steps to the sink, turn, four steps back to the edge of the carpet. Turn again. Repeat. "Why would that change anything?"

"I'm just saying, I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Why would that-- I know that. Doctor-patient confidentiality. I know that." Dan shook his head sharply. "That's not the point."

" It isn't?"

"It isn't." Dan wished he sounded less uncertain.

"You're sure about that?" When Dan didn't answer, she continued, "Why did you call?"

"There was a moment." Dan licked his lips and headed back to the fridge. He toyed with the idea of grabbing a beer, or a glass of juice, but decided it was too much effort. "When we drove back from Connecticut, there was a moment, and I didn't tell you because…"

"Because you're uncomfortable with the way you feel. And admitting that there's something there to feel uncomfortable *about* makes it worse."

"Because you'd jump to conclusions," Dan finished sharply. "Or… I don't know. But it occurred to me that I hadn't told you. And maybe this was one of those things where not wanting to tell you, means that I should."

"Are you going to tell me now?"

"It wasn't anything, not really, it was just... A moment. Like that second at the Olympics, where you're waiting to hear the judges' tally. Nothing happened, but that was what it felt like. Like the count of ten in a boxing match, where you're waiting for the guy to stand up." Dan shrugged, and dropped his head forward, staring at the light grey linoleum of the kitchen floor. "Like playing baseball, you know? You see the ball leaving the pitcher's hand, and then there's that moment where you swing and hope like hell you hit it."

"Are you going to tell me what actually happened, or am I supposed to guess from the sports metaphors?"

"I'll tell you, but it's going to sound stupid," Dan warned. "It was a moment but it wasn't, you know, a big thing."

"Try me. There's a better than average chance that I'll understand."

Dan pressed one hand against the edge of the counter. The corners bit into his palm; for some reason, that helped. "After we visited Sam's grave, Casey drove us back to Manhattan. I was wiped. I crashed, and when I woke up, Casey had already parked."

  


* * *

  
Dan woke up suddenly, going from warm, blurry dreams to a sharp awareness that he was sitting -- in his car -- and had a crick in his neck. And Casey was leaning over him.

Casey had his hands on Dan's shoulders, anchoring Dan against the leather interior, and his brown eyes were a handful of inches from Dan's face. "You awake?"

Stretching his neck, Dan tried not to yawn. "Mm-hm." Then he did yawn, closing his eyes and opening them to find Casey smiling at him. Not a beaming smile, not one of those smiles full of straight, white teeth that was walking advertising for wearing braces as a teen, but a small smile, a sweet smile. A smile that made Casey look shy and uncertain; a smile that made him look hopeful.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dan could see Casey's hand on his shoulder. Casey's thumb was moving back and forth, the knuckle grazing over the wing of Dan's collarbone, sliding the thin cotton against his skin. It was a whisper of a touch -- a slow window-wiper motion -- and Dan wasn't even sure Casey knew he was doing it.

"Casey." His voice didn't sound like his: it was too low, too raspy. It sounded more like Tom Waits than Dan Rydell.

Casey leaned closer, cutting the distance between them in half. His thumb was still moving over Dan's shoulder, hinting and making Dan's skin tighten. When Casey spoke, Dan could feel the warm puffs of air against his cheek. "Dan--"

Then a car drove behind them, taking the corner of the garage a little too quickly, and they both jumped and turned towards the sudden sound. It passed by and the sudden roar of engine quickly faded into the background traffic. The other parked cars and empty spaces were silent, the concrete pillars dividing them into safe, frozen rows.

Dan bundled his jacket into his lap and opened the car door. As he got out, he glanced in Casey's general direction and said, "Thanks for driving."

  


* * *

  
"Sounds like a moment," Abby said.

Dan shrugged, forgetting that she couldn't see him. "It didn't mean anything."

"Sure."

"It didn't."

"And I believe you," Abby said brightly. "Now can I go back to my bisque?"

"Shouldn't you be listening to me?"

"I did. Now I'm hungry."

Dan snorted and shifted on his feet, almost feeling the linoleum give a little as he did. It was his imagination, of course: there was no way the floor of an apartment on the seventeenth floor would give under his weight. "It's amazing that I pay you for this."

"You don't pay me enough for this." He could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I have a good seafood bisque that's going cold and if you called me to deny everything, it could have waited until Tuesday."

"How can you say that? How can you be sure this--"

"Dan, the point is this," Abby took a deep breath, "if you called me up to deny everything, you're wasting my time. Go tell yourself that it means nothing: you've got a better chance of someone believing it."

"Abby, I--"

"If you felt nothing for him, that moment wouldn't have happened. If Casey was only a good friend, you wouldn't talk about him the way you do."

Dan's throat was dry. He thought about getting a beer from the fridge. "What do you mean?"

"There's a certain way people talk about their friends," Abby said gently, like he was five years old and still having trouble with the concept of numbers. "There's another way that they talk about people they're attracted to."

"And I--" Dan swallowed. "I talk about Casey in the second way?"

"Let's put it this way. If you talked about Natalie the way you talk about Casey, I'd be expecting news of your engagement right now." When Dan remained quiet, she added, "Or news of the restraining order. But either way, it's not platonic."

Dan was speechless, wordless, thoughtless. There were no words, no excuses, no anything that he could use to disprove it. Because that was what he wanted to do: he wanted to disprove it, to tell Abby she was wrong, to say that she had to be wrong, she had to be. She couldn't be right because that would be... wrong. And too much. Impossible.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

Dan blinked at that thought, at that crystal-bright knowledge that this wasn't how his life was supposed to go. That this wasn't supposed to happen to him, because this wasn't supposed to happen to *Casey*... Casey wasn't that guy, Casey wasn't...

Casey wasn't...

Casey wasn't *his*.

Wasn't his to want, wasn't his to have. Wasn't his in any of the ways that really counted. And like the first drop of rain on a tin roof, it came pouring down, realizations echoing like raindrops, understanding thundering through the room.

Man, he hated it when Abby was right.

"Dan, seriously, if you don't have anything else to say..."

"Why--" He stopped, spun around to face his living room and the darkness of the windows, and really thought about what he wanted to know. "Why would it take me this long to figure out?"

"It isn't easy," Abby said cautiously.

"Why would-- Why would I want--" That wasn't the question, because he knew. He knew why he wanted Casey -- earnest and prickly, sweet and headstrong, worldly in every way but the obvious, beautiful in a way that shouldn't exist outside of Hollywood and fantasies -- and he suddenly knew how long, because forever was an easy answer. But it didn't make sense. "Why this long?"

"There are a lot of reasons." It was a way out, an easy exit from this conversation, but he didn't want that. He wanted to know why.

"Explain them to me."

Abby sighed, a small sound of uncertainty. Or tiredness. Or maybe hunger. He really didn't know. "There are little reasons, like the fact that he was married or that you assumed he was straight."

"Tell me the big reason."

"You spent a lot of time feeling responsible for your brother, for your family. You blamed yourself and you were frightened that deep down, everything you feared about you was true." This was stuff he knew -- been there, lived through the trauma, bought the T-shirt -- but Abby always had a point. "And as you said, Casey was the guy who got you."

"I guess..." Frowning, Dan held the phone loosely against one ear. With his other hand, he traced nonsense patterns on his kitchen bench. "In a way, he was a last resort. If anyone could get me, it would be Casey."

"So if Casey couldn't…"

"There was no hope." It was strange talking like this, carefully discussing things that had once been technicolor truth in a monochrome world. "If Casey couldn't, no one else could."

"Exactly."

"I was scared," Dan said slowly. "I was scared that if I tried and failed... I was scared that I'd try, that I'd put my heart and soul into loving Casey, and it still wouldn't be enough. That it would be proof that..."

"What?"

"That..." Dan rubbed his eyes, knuckling the tender skin, pressing against the purple bruises that spoke of too little sleep, of too many nights dragging his heels across sidewalks until he stood at Casey's door. "It would be proof that I couldn't be loved. That there was something so terrible inside me that not even Casey could see past it."

"Do you think that's true?"

Dan let his shoulders slump as he thought. The ticking of his clock was loud in the empty room. Finally, he said quietly, "I don't know."

"You should think about that."

Like there was any way he could avoid thinking about that. "Sure."

"You should. If you're sabotaging this opportunity with Casey because you're frightened, at least be honest with yourself. You should know this is something you're giving up because the fear's too strong for you."

"You should go eat your bisque," Dan shot back, aiming for sarcasm. It didn't quite work. "And Abby?"

"Yeah?"

Dan ran his fingers over the phone, ready to hang up. "Thanks."

  


* * *

  


"I'm trying to think of a funny way to refer to that bunch of flowers in your arms, but I'm just not getting there," Abby said as he walked in.

Dan shifted the weight in his arms, and then set the square, glass vase and its bright yellow bouquet on her desk. "They're for you."

"You bought me flowers?"

"I was going to get yellow tulips but I thought the bouquet was a better idea."

Abby looked warily at the carnations and chrysanthemums, but reached out to touch one of the thick petals of the alstroemeria. Dan could understand that urge. He'd done the same thing, needed to make sure the huge, exotic-looking flower was real. "Why?"

"Because tulips have to be the worst cut flower in the world. They die within a day, and the only alternative is to buy them as a potted plant, and even then, the flowers still shrivel and die."

"No," Abby said, pulling back her hand. "Why did you buy me flowers in the first place?"

Dan grinned widely. "It's a thank you gift."

"I get paid for the service that I provide. This isn't a social thing. You don't buy me presents."

"My doorman gets paid, too." Dan settled down on to the couch. "That doesn't mean it's inappropriate to send him a gift at Christmas."

"This isn't Christmas."

"Which is just as well, since that isn't a Christmas gift."

"Dan--"

"It's a thank-you gift, Abby. A way of saying thanks. That I appreciate that you've gone above and beyond what I pay you for. Take the flowers, acknowledge the gesture, and enjoy some Sunshine Thoughts."

"Sunshine thoughts?"

"Sunshine Thoughts," Dan agreed, finding it hard not to smile. "It's the name of the bouquet."

"You spent a lot of time talking to the florist, huh?"

"Apparently, there's a wide range of flowers that say thank you in cheery yellow."

"And you decided on Sunshine Thoughts?"

Dan chuckled. "I thought it was appropriate."

Abby moved the flowers over to the right corner of her desk, closer to the door. Then she tilted her head slightly and looked at him. After a moment, she said, "You're happy," like she was surprised.

"There's a good vibe going on. A certain joyful mood." Dan stretched his arms above him and smirked at the warm orange walls. "I'd say I'm happy."

"Got out on the right side of bed?"

"In a manner of speaking." Dan had no idea how he was going to tell Abby -- no idea at all -- so he figured the obvious way was probably easiest. "But more accurately, I got out on the right side of Casey's bed."

Abby's eyes widened slightly. Then she blinked three times and almost smiled. "You're going to have to tell me more than that, Dan."

"I thought I would." Dan leaned forward on the couch. "But you know me. I can't resist the shock value."

"So," Abby said, standing up and walking over to the black armchair, "tell me: what happened last week?"

"I was having a pretty crappy week. Things kept irritating me for no good reason. So I called you."

"Yeah, I remember."

"And then I got to thinking about that stuff. Well, not so much thinking as brooding. And maybe sulking." Dan shrugged. "There could have been some sulking."

"And what happened with Casey?"

"He put up with it. I wasn't a lot of fun to work with, but he put up with it." Dan settled his elbows on his knees, and lowered his voice a little. "But the really annoying thing? The thing that was driving me out of my mind? Was that Casey. Was flirting. With Dana."

"I can see why that would bother you."

"It's not that Casey hasn't done it before, because he has. And I know that he doesn't really mean it. He just… does it. Sometimes. But it was driving me insane." Dan let out a short huff of breath. "And it wasn't the flirting round the office. That I can handle. It makes Natalie's eyes gleam, but the office thing isn't a big deal."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "Then what was?"

"The flirting at Anthony's. That's just… uncalled for, you know? It's not necessary and... I don't know. It just drove me nuts."

  


* * *

  
Dan could be the bigger man. Dan could admit fault -- he could see when he was acting badly, even if it wasn't always in his power to stop it -- and he knew why Casey wasn't sitting at the bar with him.

Two days ago, he'd called Abby, and ever since, he'd been like this. Sullen. Easily annoyed. Able to rant about one stupid mistake for hours. (And he had. One stupid call from the Suns' coach and he'd been bitching about it all day. It had been a stupid call and a ridiculous game plan. Dan didn't even care about the Suns; it wasn't his team, wasn't his state, wasn't his alma mater. He'd just wanted to think about something that wasn't Casey, that wasn't complex, that wasn't frightening.)

He felt sour, like he was leaving a bad taste in the back of his own mouth, so he knew why Casey wasn't sitting with him. He knew it was his fault.

But that didn't excuse Casey's behavior. It didn't excuse the way he'd slid into the padded booth seat, slithering up close to Dana. Natalie and Jeremy had disappeared to Kim's table, so there was no reason for Casey to still be invading Dana's personal space.

Dan stared ahead, watching their reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Casey had one elbow on the table -- bad manners, his mom would be ashamed -- and was resting his head on his hand, devotedly smiling at Dana as she illustrated some story with wild, flailing gestures. Dan took another sip of his beer as Casey laughed, as Casey leaned closer to talk over the background buzz of the Saturday night crowd.

Dana tossed her head and laughed, then used her hand to flick her bangs back.

Dan pushed the half-full bottle away from him and left.

  


* * *

  
"You were upset about him flirting?"

"I was jealous." Dan rolled his shoulders, wanting to shrug away the feeling. "I was jealous of the attention he was paying to Dana, but I didn't want to admit it."

"When did you realize?" Abby stretched her legs out in front of her, the slim lines of her charcoal slacks melting into the bruised color of the chair.

"Sometime between storming out of the bar in a huff and insulting Casey's parenting skills," Dan said and Abby raised an eyebrow. He explained, "He called me up. I gave Lisa's inner-bitch a run for her money."

  


* * *

  
Dan kicked off his comforter. He was too hot to sleep. There must be something wrong with his building's heating. He was tempted to open his window, but that would require getting out of bed and that was too much effort. It took just as much effort to kick the comforter to the floor but there was a vicious pleasure to watching it collapse onto the carpet.

Then his phone rang, a high electronic trill that made him fumble for his cell. He glared at the number -- Casey's cell -- and debated picking it up. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now, especially not Casey, but if he didn't pick it up, it would be one more thing for Casey to annoy him about in the morning.

He held it as the impatient ringing got louder, then he sighed and answered. "Yeah?"

"Danny?" Dan nearly rolled his eyes: who else did Casey think had answered his phone? Almost sensing his irritation, Casey quickly asked, "Where are you?"

"At my place."

"It's still early," Casey said cheerfully. Dan listened hard and could hear the background noise of music and chatter. Casey must still be out. Dana probably was, too.

Dan frowned at his alarm clock. "It's half past two."

"Yeah, but…"

"What?"

"It's still early. I didn't know you'd left."

"I did."

"You didn't say goodbye," Casey said, and this time Dan did roll his eyes.

Then he forced a tight smile onto his face. "I didn't want to interrupt you and Dana."

"You should have. I wanted to talk to you."

Dan was tempted to point out that he'd sat at Anthony's for an hour: Casey had had plenty of time to talk to him. It wasn't Dan's fault that Casey preferred to flirt with Dana than talk to him. If Casey wanted to flirt -- if Casey wanted to pursue a romance that would end in tears and recriminations -- it was his choice.

"I've got something for you," Casey said. "A present."

"You got me a present?" Dan deadpanned.

"Yeah."

"Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"No. I got it from Jerome tonight -- you know Jerome, the hockey-loving camera guy?"

"I know Jerome," Dan bit back. "I introduced you to Jerome. I'm not the one who has trouble remembering that people have names."

Casey wasn't deterred. "He got it to me after tonight's show. I wanted to give it to you."

"It can wait until tomorrow."

"Danny," Casey said softly, like it was breaking his heart. He hated it when Casey said his name like that. "Let me come over and give you this. I think it'll cheer you up."

"I don't need cheering up."

"You need something because--" Casey stopped, mid-sentence. "You've been miserable for days."

"Miserable?"

"Well, you're making everyone else miserable."

"So, I've been in a bit of a bad mood, and you figured you'd buy me something and all would be right in my world?" Dan snorted. "I'm not Charlie. Don't treat me like I am."

There was silence on the other side of the phone. Closing his eyes, Dan carefully didn't swear under his breath. That had been too far. It was the type of low blow better suited to Lisa. In fact, it was precisely the type of insult Lisa had used. "Casey, I didn't mean--"

"Forget it," Casey said thickly and Dan knew he wouldn't. Casey didn't forget insults like that. He hoarded them and used them to obsess about his failings as a father.

"Casey--"

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"You're not a bad father," Dan tried to say, but the line was already dead.

  


* * *

  
Abby winced. "Ouch."

Rubbing at his eyes, Dan let his head drop. "I know. It's like... in times of trouble, my mouth says the worst thing possible. It doesn't even stop to check with my brain first."

"Tell me you apologized."

"I apologized," Dan repeated dutifully, smiling a little at Abby's bright eyes.

"That night?"

"Yeah." He mimicked picking up a phone and dialing, and then hanging it up again. "I tried calling him. By tried, I mean I dialed half the numbers and then lost my nerve. Three times. Then I finally got through and it went straight to the message. I left one of those really lame 'hey, it's me, call me' messages."

"You apologized on a message?" Abby's lips puckered into a frown that was a little worried and a lot adorable. She'd been wearing a similar frown -- staring at a Manhattan that should have been a Sour Martini -- the first time he saw her. Any girl could look pretty when she smiled; it took something extra to look pretty when frowning.

"I apologized in person. He came over," Dan added as a quick explanation. "I let him in, and we talked. And I got a present."

  


* * *

  
Dan was staring at the ceiling, wondering if he should try Casey's number again, when he heard a jingle of keys and the creak of his front door opening. There were only three other people who had that key. Since Brianna had left for Japan without returning it and it was unlikely that his super had started to make three a.m. maintenance visits, the uninvited guest had to be Casey.

Dan rolled off his bed and walked out of his bedroom, not bothering to change out of his ratty, off-white T-shirt and old pair of sweats. Casey was standing in his living room, patting down his pockets in the traditional 'I have a pen somewhere' method.

"Oh," he said when he saw Dan, "You're up. Good."

Dan let his chin drop to his chest. He needed to apologize; it didn't mean he liked doing it. "Look, I didn't--"

Holding his hands up in a 'time out' gesture, Casey said, "Let's bench that conversation for a while, okay? I wanted to talk to you, Danny. I was going to write to you, but I couldn't find a pen."

"Does it need to be written?"

"I do better with prepared words." Casey ducked his head to the side, shrugging slightly. "And an audience that doesn't interrupt."

Dan nodded and noticed that Casey was still wearing his leather jacket, tightly buttoned all the way up.

"You remember Dallas, right?" Casey asked, and Dan nodded again. "Lone Star did well, and you were out partying and flirting, cashing in on your celebrity with every big-breasted bimbo that crossed your path?"

Dan laughed. "I think that might be a tiny exaggeration."

"Only tiny," Casey said, waving at him to be quiet, "but it's fundamentally true and..."

"What?"

A frown settled across Casey's forehead. "Are you going to keep interrupting?"

Dan zipped his lips, and pretended he was throwing away the key.

"Thanks. Anyway, what I wanted to say was..." Casey crossed his arms across his chest, but his suede-brown eyes didn't waver, didn't look away from Dan. "I used to wake up after Charlie was gone, and then I'd go to work, and when I came home, everyone was already asleep. I'd eat whatever leftovers Lisa had put aside and then I'd creep up to my bedroom, get undressed in the dark and get into bed carefully so I wouldn't wake up Lisa. I only saw Charlie on the weekends--"

"You're a good father." Dan swallowed and ignored Casey's annoyed scowl. "I mean it, Casey. You're a good father and you've never tried to buy Charlie's affection. I shouldn't have implied that."

"Can we get back to the topic?"

Dan blinked. "That wasn't the topic?"

"No," Casey said firmly, but he uncrossed his arms and started to pop open the buttons on his jacket. Dan took that as a good sign, even though it was probably caused by his building's malfunctioning heat. "The topic was that I wasn't happy. I used to look at you and be so jealous--"

"Jealous? Of me?"

"Can you stop interrupting? It's really throwing me off."

Holding his hands up, Dan shrugged an apology.

Casey gave him a long stare and -- when Dan remained silent -- continued. "I was jealous of you. I was jealous that it came so easily, so quickly for you. I was jealous that you got to be young and single as well as successful and famous. I was jealous that you didn't have to go home to a family, that you didn't have to be the responsible provider, that you got to go out and drink, and enjoy it all. You were so *young*."

Dan shook his head. He'd never thought of Casey as the jealous one; he'd never thought Casey had wanted to be him. It was strange to hear but he couldn't tell Casey to be quiet now, not when Casey was setting his shoulders and fiddling his fingers as he thought.

"You came with me, Danny. I made it a condition of moving to Lone Star that they check you out for co-anchor. They wouldn't have looked at you if it wasn't for me." Only Casey could say something like that without bragging. He made it sound like simple truth, so hearing it only stung a little. "But they wouldn't have hired you if you weren't damn good. They saw one tape, and met you once, and offered you the contract. Two months out of college and you were a sports anchor. It took me five years."

"This isn't about the list, is it?" Dan asked, confused and flattered at the same time. "Because I really am over that. Mostly."

Casey shook his head. "It's not about the list. It's about me being jealous because you were -- because you are -- really good at what you do. It's about me being miserable because I didn't want to be living my life. I didn't want to be married."

Casey took a deep breath and shrugged off his jacket. "Then we moved to New York, and it was easier and harder. It was harder because I saw Charlie less. I didn't have every weekend off, so I saw him for an afternoon a week, if that. It was easier because the pay was better: we could afford a nanny, so Lisa got time to herself, and we could afford a guest room, so I got space."

Dan pulled himself up straight at that. Casey had never mentioned the guest room. In fact, Casey had never mentioned anything of his marriage. By the time they got to Sports Night, Casey was highly adept at talking around his marriage, at saying everything was fine and diverting the subject to the latest sports gossip. In the last few months before the divorce, Casey had reminded Dan of teachers he'd had in elementary school: it was so hard to imagine him having any kind of personal life that Dan almost forgot he existed away from the studio.

Dan kept his voice quiet and curious. "Why was the guest room important?"

Casey looked guilty and then glanced away. "The guest room meant that I didn't have to creep home at nights. It meant that I could grab a beer with you and Dana, because I wouldn't accidentally wake Lisa. It meant that I could get undressed each night with the light on and hang clothes up," Casey said, with the annoyance of a true anal retentive.

"You never said you were living in the guest room."

Dan almost expected Casey to deny it, but he didn't. Instead, he shrugged. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't want to have to admit that the only thing I was good at was my job. And even with that, you achieved it quicker." Casey sighed. "See, this is why I wanted to write it down. I would have got to the point faster."

"What is the point?"

"The point is that I was miserable. The point is that waiting and trying to force it to work didn't help. The point is that after the divorce, after the arguing and the lawyers, I was happier. I was so much happier," Casey said softly, like he was sharing a dirty secret. "I actually see Charlie more now. That was the point."

"Why did you tell me?"

"Because you're not happy."

That was such a simple statement that Dan didn't know how to take it. "What do you mean?"

"You're not happy. There's something in your life that you want and you don't have, and I... I wanted to say that you should fix it. Because waiting and hoping doesn't make it feel any better, it only makes it hurt more when things change." Casey smiled at him, a sweet smile that seemed oddly familiar.

Dan swallowed. "That's why you came up here?"

"That, and I had a present for you." Casey fumbled with his jacket, trying to pull something out of the pocket. It was a thin, blue square and it took Dan a moment to recognize it as a CD in one of those slim, jewel-colored cases. Taking it from Casey, he looked through the clear front and read the words written in painstakingly clear capitals: Dodgers-Giants Pennant Game, 1951. "Jerome mentioned that he had it and he agreed to make copies for you and Charlie."

"Oh," Dan managed, staring at the metal and plastic in his hands. "Man."

"You like?" Dan wasn't sure if Casey was fishing for compliments or genuinely uncertain of his gift. He guessed it didn't matter.

"Man. It's-- Man! Casey, it's great. Beyond great." He grinned at the CD and realized it would be bad manners to dash over to his stereo and play it now. "I haven't listened to this for years. This is incredible. Thank you."

Casey beamed at him and reached out to give his hand a quick squeeze. "Good." It was when Casey left his hand there, his fingers lightly curled around Dan's own, that Dan realized Abby was wrong. This opportunity hadn't been lost: it had been benched for a while.

He took a few steps back, out of Casey's reach, and Casey hid his hands in his pocket. His smile barely dimmed. "I should probably let you get some sleep."

"No," Dan replied quickly, waving the CD cover back and forth. "Wait. I need to put this away. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

Casey nodded. Dan waited a moment -- to make sure that Casey wasn't leaving -- and then walked over to the stereo. Carefully resting the CD on top of it, Dan stared at the sleek silver surface of his stereo and realized he didn't know what to say. He should apologize, certainly. But how could he say, 'I know I've acted like a jerk but it was only because I didn't realize I wanted you'?

He took a deep breath, turned around to face Casey, and started with the most obvious thing. "I've been going through some stuff."

Casey's brows jumped for a microsecond but he went along with it. "Okay."

"I was going through some big stuff. Like, really big. Godzilla big." Dan scratched the back of his head and wished this stuff was easier. "I don't even know, not really. I just know that... when things go bad, it's the worst when it's with you. Not that my life's worse with you, but when stuff between us goes bad, Casey, it sucks. When stuff goes good, it's great. And, maybe, I've spent too long being scared of the worst to think that maybe the good could be better--"

Dan stopped as Casey took three quick steps towards him. "Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." Casey smiled, a real smile that hit his eyes and doubled back to the end corners of his mouth, and then he kissed Dan.

Dan froze for a moment, wanting to memorize the feel of Casey's tongue sliding inside his mouth and Casey's hands bracketing his hips. He started to kiss back, trying to keep the words in the back of his head, but Casey pulled him closer: body against body, mouth against mouth.

Dan wrapped his arms around Casey's shoulders, and figured that the rest of it didn't need to be said anyway.

  


* * *

  
"You didn't talk?"

"We talked."

Abby leaned forward slightly. "When?"

"In bed," Dan said. If he sounded a little smug, he had good reason to be. But Abby just raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Abby gave a small shrug. "I'm normally a little wary of emotional statements that occur during sex."

"It wasn't during. It was before. Well, after." Stretching back on the couch, Dan clarified, "After the first round, before the second."

  


* * *

  
Lying on his left side, Dan stretched his right leg further across the bed. Behind him, Casey shifted, his leg following Dan's. Casey's hand was trapped between Dan's cheek and the pillow, and when Dan moved his mouth he could feel the pressure of Casey's fingers against his jaw. His lips felt tender -- not surprising, considering the way he'd sucked Casey's cock -- and his limbs were still cruising on that endorphin high, but he wasn't sleepy.

It was a little unnerving.

Pressing a light kiss against the heel of Casey's hand, he asked, "Are you sleepy?"

"I'm basking in the afterglow." Casey moved closer, until Dan could feel the light brush of chest hair between his shoulder blades. "Why?"

"I'm not sleepy."

"Mmmm." Casey bit lightly at the back of Dan's neck, his other hand tightening around Dan's waist.

"I think I should apologize."

"Considering the last hour," Casey said, sucking kisses across Dan's shoulder, "I don't think there's anything you need to apologize for."

Dan shrugged. "I acted like a jerk. For weeks, I've been acting like a jerk to you. I think that deserves a sorry, at least."

Casey moved away, leaving a cold gap against Dan's back. Dan froze; there was a part of him that wouldn't be surprised if Casey had changed his mind, a small voice that whispered that it couldn't be this easy. Then he took a deep breath, screwed his courage together and rolled onto his back to look over at Casey.

Casey was lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand. He reached out with his other hand and rested it on Dan's hip.

Somehow, that one warm, solid hand against his skin made Dan feel braver. "I am sorry, you know."

"I was a jerk during my divorce," Casey said softly. "And I don't mean to Lisa, although I probably was. I was mean to you and Dana, and all the other people we work with. But especially to you."

"Why me?"

"Because Dana was the one keeping me safe from the network, but you were the one who stopped me from quitting." Casey's thumb rubbed small circles against the curve of Dan's hip. "It was the one thing I could do well and I was prepared to walk away from it. I would have, if you hadn't pointed out I was being an idiot. I never said thanks for that."

Dan wrapped a hand around Casey's wrist. "You don't need to."

"It was a crisis of confidence. I'd screwed it up with Lisa and, deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd screw up the show too. That I just wasn't good enough to make things work." Casey licked his lower lip and his hand stopped moving. He looked down at the comforter that was barely pulled up to their chests. "When big things go wrong, you feel lost and betrayed. Part of you can't help wondering… If one person let you down, what's to stop everyone else from doing the same? You don't want to rely on people. You want to prove that you don't need anyone else, that you can do it on your own."

Dan swallowed. He didn't want to say anything.

"You push away the people who really care for you, the ones who want to help. But if you're really lucky, they'll stick around. They'll put up with you being a jerk and when you go too far, they'll make you toe the line." Casey's eyes settled on his and there was a world of knowing behind them. "You don't have to apologize to me."

Dan let out a surprised half-chuckle, slightly amazed that this was coming from the guy who thought Veronica was a member of the Monkees. "When did you get to be the insightful one?"

Casey smiled. "I've spent a lot of years around you. Some things wear off."

"What things?"

Casey held his hand up and counted down on his fingers. "A better fashion sense. A deeper understanding of our political system. An appreciation of what is, and what is not, cool."

Laughing, Dan reached up and pressed a light kiss against Casey's lips. "You still don't know what's cool."

"I'm a better person for having known you," Casey said softly, leaning over Dan to kiss him again.

"Not that your wardrobe reflects that."

"I'm serious, Danny. Having you in my life has made me a better person. You call me on the bad plays and you have faith in me." Casey glanced away for a moment. "Even when I don't."

Dan tried to swallow past a suddenly tight throat. He dragged in a shaky breath and blurted out in a gruff voice, "I love you." He wasn't sure what he'd meant to say, but it wasn't that.

Casey jerked his head back, pulled his chin in, and stared at him. His mouth hung open for a long moment as he blinked slowly. Then he nodded as if Dan had been asking a question.

Dan started to grin, because he didn't know what to say, and Casey kissed him. Not a sweet, lazy kiss, but something deep, wet and dirty; the type of kiss that made Dan think of really good porn and the sounds of skin on skin. It was the type of kiss that had him grabbing at Casey, kneading his ass and yanking him down; the type of kiss that forced him to roll Casey over and grind his cock against Casey's hip.

  


* * *

  
"I think that's where a discreet, tasteful narrator should stop," Dan said, suddenly very aware of his surroundings, of the firm couch cushions beneath him and the burnt orange walls of Abby's office.

There was being comfortable with therapy and being honest, but there were also a lot of things he wasn't going to say. There were things he didn't quite have words for: the weight of Casey's legs over his shoulders; the soft pliancy of the flesh above the inside of Casey's knees; the sound Casey made when he turned his head and licked there.

There were other things that he wasn't willing to share with anyone: the tiny gasps when he fucked Casey with three fingers; the shift of Casey's sweaty thighs tensing under his hands; the muffled noise of the mattress moving underneath them, in time with Dan's thrusts. Or the striving, sure movement of Casey's hand, jerking himself off, and the way he threw his head back when he came.

The shattered-open expression in Casey's eyes afterwards. The smell of sex, and sweat, and Casey, spread over Dan's skin. Casey's fingers petting over Dan's head, over the damp bed hair and down his neck, to rest between his shoulder blades.

Swallowing, Dan pushed those thoughts away. "And I'm nothing if not discreet and tasteful."

"Uh-huh," Abby said sarcastically.

"I'm known for it."

"Sure."

"Really." Dan gave her his brightest smile. "Ask anyone I know."

"And they'll say you're discreet and tasteful?"

"Well... They'll probably laugh loudly, but that's beside the point. It was a good night. Fun was had by all."

Abby nodded. "So that was Saturday night, right?"

"Yeah."

"And Sunday?"

"We went back to Casey's place." Dan grinned. "And Monday night, too, because I left my keys on his table and by the time we got back to his place, it seemed sort of pointless for me to get dressed and go home at quarter to four."

"And it's been okay around the office?"

"So far, I'm cruising on the euphoria of a new relationship and really, really good sex. The working together thing... It hasn't quite hit us. So far it's just been, you know, trying not to make out at work. Wait until we get a bad interview, a few cancelled games, and a crappy day of writing. That's when the reality will hit." Dan breathed in deeply and stretched his arms across the back of the couch. "But right now, it's Euphoria City."

"And that's why you've been grinning from ear to ear today?" Abby asked with a smile.

Dan waggled his eyebrows at her. "It's one of the reasons."

"What's the other reason?"

"I overheard Casey talking to Dana."

"About?"

He wouldn't have thought it was possible, but Dan felt his grin stretch even wider. "About vacation time."

"Why was that important?"

"On top of rostered days, we get two weeks off a year. The network prefers that we take the time off during summer, so Casey always takes a week off and spends it with Charlie."

"What about the second week?"

"Lisa likes to take Charlie to visit her family during the summer break, so Casey only gets him for a week. It's written into the custody papers and everything, which is a little cruel when you consider what Texas is like during August." Dan grimaced. Having to spend summer in Texas and around Lisa's relatives was his idea of torture.

"But that wouldn't stop Casey from taking the other week off, right?"

"He can't do it. Casey physically can't take time off by himself. After the second day, he gets really bored. By the fourth day, he's coming into the office, sitting around bothering everyone but claiming that he doesn't have to work because it's his vacation. It's annoying."

"I could imagine."

"Plus, he heckles his stand-in. He doesn't mean to, but he can't help criticizing how they write or read the script. And on one memorable occasion, how they sit in a chair." Dan shook his head, remembering the look on Hal Brinkman's face when Casey told him not to slouch. "Dana's banned him from taking the second week off unless he can prove that he's leaving the city for all seven days."

"So what made you so happy about him asking for time off?"

"I was going to see Dana about the timing of the forties and I heard Casey's voice. I eavesdropped."

  


* * *

  
He was about to walk into Dana's room when he heard Casey say, "Dana, Dana, Dana." When Casey used that tone of voice, that combination of charm and arrogance, something was up.

"When you say my name like that," Dana replied, "it automatically makes me suspicious. What do you want?"

Dan peeked around the corner to see Dana sitting on the couch, clipboard perched on her lap. Casey was standing in front of her, his hands in his pockets. "You're a very blunt woman. Luckily, I find that refreshing."

Dana rolled her eyes but Dan could tell that she was a little amused. "Spit it out, Casey."

"I'm asking you for time off."

"You want to switch your rostered days?" Dana pushed at her glasses -- a new pair with thin, blue frames -- and frowned at the pages in front of her. "Work it out with Danny first."

"I want to take vacation days."

"Why would you have to ask me about that now? You always take a week off with Charlie."

"I want to take a week off with Charlie and I want to take a second week off," Casey said, rocking back on his feet.

Dan frowned, wondering what Casey was up to. From the way Dana looked up from her clipboard, she shared Dan's doubts. "You know the rule. You cannot take time off and then come into the studio. I want to see airplane tickets, mister."

"I'm not planning on flying--"

"And why are you asking me now?" Dana asked, pushing the clipboard away from her. "Shouldn't this wait until closer to summer?"

"I want to take a week off with Danny," Casey said calmly. Dan felt his brows jump.

"With Danny?"

"He's going to take me sailing."

"And you'll definitely be out of the city?"

"We'll probably be out of the country," Casey replied. Then he quickly added, "Maybe. Well, out of the land-mass part of the country. I don't know where international waters start."

Dana's dark red lips flattened into a tight line. "Don't you get seasick?"

"Apparently, they have injections for that nowadays."

"You realize that's over five months away, right?"

Casey flung in arms into the air. "I thought you might want a bit of notice if the on-air talent is going to be out of the country. I was trying to get things organized in advance."

"Hmmm."

Dan didn't need to see Casey's face to know he was smiling hopefully. "So do we get the time off?"

"I get a week without both of you?" Dana beamed and started dancing in her seat, bouncing her shoulders from side to side and moving her hands. Dan stepped away from the doorway and clamped a hand over his mouth to make sure he didn't laugh. "You've got it."

"You mean that?"

"Fill out the paperwork and give it to Jenn. I'll happily sign off on it."

"Thanks."

"Now go and find Danny, and make sure he knows what he's doing with the forties."

Dan stood there with his back against the corridor wall. Casey's footsteps got closer, and when Casey walked by -- not even looking around him, but that wasn't surprising -- Dan reached out a hand and snagged his arm.

"Danny!" Casey squealed in shock. He raised a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. "Can we forget I just did that?"

"Forget you just squealed like a thirteen year old girl? I don't think so." Casey grimaced, but Dan didn't let that distract him. "I don't recall asking you to come sailing for a week with me."

Casey's gaze flicked to Dana's door and back again. "I helped you pick the boat. You said you'd take me sailing."

"How did that translate into taking a week off over summer?" Dan realized he was still holding onto Casey's arm. He let go of it -- before he could be tempted to hold onto anything else of Casey's -- and started walking back to their office. "You know what we're doing for the forties, right?"

"Yeah," Casey said, walking beside him.

"Good. Because at the moment, I have five minutes of script, including one C-break." Dan waited until they'd walked through the activity of the bullpen and got back to their office before he spoke again. "When were you going to ask me about the sailing trip?"

Casey shrugged. "Now?"

Dan waved his hand in a come-on gesture.

Taking a few steps closer, Casey grinned. "How would you like to take a week off this summer and take me sailing?"

"I don't know, Casey. I was planning on going to Vegas."

"Think about it." Casey's voice dropped a little lower and his smile shifted into something that hinted at sex and sweaty, naked bodies. "Just you, me and a whole lot of water. We could work on our tans."

Dan couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Well, you are looking pasty. It'd be for the good of the show."

  


* * *

  
"Does he always organize things so far in advance?"

Dan had to laugh. Casey's diary had the next year's worth of Charlie-visits written in. "When it's a sure thing. When it's something that he wants."

"You knew that Casey would be serious about this."

"Yeah, but…" Dan dragged his lower lip between his teeth. "There's a pretty big chance that this will work. Casey thinks that in a half a year's time, we'll still be together."

Abby raised her eyebrows. "And?"

"And for the first time in forever," Dan said slowly, weighing his words, "I believe it. Normally, I'm waiting to screw it up. I'm waiting for the girl -- or guy -- in question to see through me and leave. Right now, with Casey…"

"You don't think that will happen?"

"I think it'll work. I think we'll have arguments and bad days, and times when all we want is to get away and have some space to ourselves, but I think it'll work." The words sounds strange -- unread and incredibly when said in his voice -- but they'd been rolling around the back of his head for days. They felt right, like watching Thomson hit a ball out of the park, like reading poetry and touching truth. Like floating in the middle of the ocean and knowing peace.

"Time's up," Abby said, standing and walking back to her desk. "Next week?"

Dan stretched his arms above his head. "Same bat-time, same bat-channel?"

Abby laughed a little and nodded. "I'll see you next Tuesday."

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback can be left here or on [Livejournal](http://community.livejournal.com/inthetallgrass/183437.html?mode=reply).


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